









Gopyriglit N ° 

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THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


By 

NINA BROWN BAKER 

THE SECRET OF HALLAM HOUSE 
THE CHINESE RIDDLE 
THE RANEE’S RUBY 
THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


The 

CINDERELLA SECRET 


By 

NINA BROWN BAKER 

U 



LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD COMPANY 

1938 

(\ 


BOSTON 


NEW YORK 





Copyright 1938 

BY LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 


©ClA 1 1 8954 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 





For 

Nell and Betty Jane 






CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

Mary Jane 

PAGE 

13 

II 

Ragtag Castle 

30 

III 

Good News 

35 

IV 

Mary Jane’s Problem 

43 

V 

Boris Mazaroff 

53 

VI 

“While the Cat’s Away” 

60 

VII 

The Man with the Beard 

69 

VIII 

The Old Desk’s Secret 

83 

IX 

An Angel Lady 

90 

X 

Mr. Mazaroff Listens 

98 

XI 

Delia Speaks her Mind 

109 

XII 

Chivalry is not Dead 

117 

XIII 

Waiting 

126 

XIV 

The Blow Falls 

133 

XV 

After the Storm 

139 

XVI 

How it Happened 

145 

XVII 

Mr. Mazaroff Keeps his Word 

152 

XVIII 

Happy Days 

162 

XIX 

Natalya 

169 

XX 

The Dragon Returns 

177 

XXI 

The Princess Tanya 

183 

XXII 

The Mystery Is Solved 

187 

XXIII 

Happily Ever After 

200 








THE CINDERELLA SECRET 






/ 










CHAPTER I 

MARY JANE 

“You mean you really don’t think she’s stuck 
up? But, Sis, all the girls at school think so! She 
lives in the grandest house in town, and wears 
velvets and chiffons to school, and always acts 
as though she doesn’t want to talk to anybody! 
What else could you call it? I think that Mary 
Jane Smith is—” 

“Sh, Francie, not so loud!” 

New friends were always surprised to learn 
that Kathleen and Frances Forrester were sis¬ 
ters. Frances, just twelve, was very fair. Pale 
gold curls framed a vivid little face, lighted by 
dancing gray eyes. She could never sit still for 
very long, and was constantly finding everything 
about her “romantic” and “thrilling.” 

Kathleen, two years older, was gray-eyed too, 
but there the likeness ended. Kathleen’s eyes 
were deep set and serene; her dark hair was drawn 
smoothly back from a face of quiet loveliness. 
Ivathie, as her friends called her, was not easily 
excited; she was one of those people who always 
know exactly what to do in every situation. 

13 



14 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Different as they were, the two sisters were very 
congenial, and spent most of their time together. 

The school term had recently ended, and the 
girls were enjoying a long, lazy vacation. On 
this particular afternoon, they were sitting in 
the cool shade of the high stone wall which 
separated the Forrester lawn from that of the 
house next door. Over their knitting Kathleen 
and Frances were chatting about the strange 
girl who lived there. 

The Mortimer mansion towered high over the 
Forresters’ bungalow. It was a raw new build¬ 
ing in Spanish style, of violent pink stucco, 
quite different from the modest homes about it. 
It was not the only house of its type in the village, 
however. The nearby city was growing so rap¬ 
idly that Medhurst, from a sleepy country town, 
was turning into a prosperous suburb with more 
and more new residents. 

Mr. J. Sterling Mortimer, the Forresters’ 
neighbor, was almost a complete stranger to his 
neighbors. He maintained an office in the city, 
to which he went daily, but neither he nor his 
wife had ever taken any part in the community 
life during the year they had lived in Medhurst. 
When Mrs. Mortimer occasionally entertained at 
an afternoon bridge party for ladies, her guests 
were always from the city. Elaborately dressed, 


MARY JAYE 15 

they drove through the streets with a very aloof 
air. 

Mrs. Forrester, following the pleasant country 
custom, had once called on Mrs. Mortimer, only 
to be told by a maid that her mistress was “not 
receiving this afternoon.” Thus repulsed, the 
Forresters had carefully refrained from intrud¬ 
ing upon their new neighbors. 

At her sister’s caution Frances glanced up at 
the window almost over her head. Then she louv¬ 
ered her voice. 

“There’s no one at home there but Mary Jane 
and the cook. The other maid and the chauffeur 
left last week. It’s funny that they can’t seem to 
keep their servants! And the Mortimers, them¬ 
selves, went away yesterday. To Yew York on 
a two weeks trip, Helga says. The expressman 
told her. Wouldn’t you think they’d take Mary 
Jane on some of their trips? But they never 
do. Her aunt never even takes her into the city 
for an afternoon. And she’s never with them 
when they go out driving. Really, you'd think 
she was one of the maids, instead of their niece, 
except that they do buy her those wonderful 
clothes!” 

“Well, I can tell you something about those 
wonderful clothes,” Kathleen observed. “Maybe 
you haven’t noticed, but they’re all lots too big 


16 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

for her, except the ones which have obviously 
been made over. I’m only guessing, but I think 
they’re her aunt’s old dresses. Oh, I know they re 
made of beautiful materials, and must have cost 
a lot. But just the same, they weren’t bought 
for Mary Jane! And neither were those high- 

heeled pumps she wears.” 

“She lost a slipper in the hall one day,” Fran¬ 
ces said thoughtfully. “At school, I mean. That 
horrid Carter boy yelled at her, ‘Hey, Cinderella!’ 
It must have been too big for her, but I never 
dreamed—oh, Sis, do you think it s really so? 
That all she gets are the hand-me-downs when 
Mrs. Mortimer is through with them?” 

“That’s what I think. It’s one of the reasons 
I said you were wrong in calling her ‘stuck-up.’ 
She’s not responsible for those fussy clothes, and 
I can’t believe she’s proud of them.” 

“But she never talks to anybody,” Frances ob¬ 
jected. “You don’t have her in any of your 
classes, Sis, but I do, and you can’t imagine 
how stand-offish she is! You know that free 
period we have in the library for history refer¬ 
ence? It’s lots of fun, really. There’s no one in 
charge but a 9A girl, and she never cares how 
much we talk as long as we don’t make too 
much noise. Well, Mary Jane sits all by her¬ 
self in a corner and studies , the whole time!” 


MARY JANE 17 

“Dear me, how unusual!” her sister laughed. 
“I don’t suppose there’s another girl in the 
seventh grade who’d be guilty of such outlandish 
conduct.” 

“Well, there isn’t,” Frances argued seriously. 
“Not in the whole Junior High, including your 
own precious 9A, and you know it. Besides, 
we do study. I brought home a History A 
every month last year, didn’t I? But to study 
every minute, when there’s no one to make us— 
that’s not human! And anyway, when I say 
we talk in the library, well, we talk about school 
most of the time. We even talk about history. 
So there! Patty Friend brought in her Van 
Loon’s “Story of Mankind” one day because it 
isn’t in the school library, and we all had a grand 
time looking up what he said about the Protestant 
Reformation. It was lots more interesting than 
the textbook, and Miss Talbot was quite pleased 
because we’d done some outside reading. So if 
you think—” 

“All right, all right, dear,” Kathleen inter¬ 
rupted the defence. “I know you study and 
I’m very, very proud of the work you do in 
school. What started this argument, anyway?” 

“I’ve forgotten,” Frances admitted. “Oh, no, 
I haven’t. We were talking about Mary Jane 
Smith. Well, she wasn’t interested in the Van 




18 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Loon book. She never even came to look at it. 
That’s what I mean about her, Sis.” 

“Maybe she was waiting to be asked.” 

“Asked? But she was asked. The minute 
Patty came in the door she said, 'Look, girls, 
I’ve brought the history Uncle Fred gave me,’ 
and we all crowded around. Do you mean Mary 
Jane expected to be asked specially? But why? 
None of the rest of us did.” 

“I know, darling, but you girls all know each 
other, and she’s a stranger. I believe she’s shy.” 
And Kathleen looked thoughtful. 

“But what is there to be shy about? Just a 
bunch of girls in her own class. She was asked 
to the class party, though, I gave her the in¬ 
vitation to that myself. She thanked me for it 
quite politely, but she didn’t come. And she al¬ 
ways hurries off by herself the minute school is 
out. She never waits for anyone to walk with her. 
What can I think, except that she considers her¬ 
self too good for us? It’s what all the girls 
think.” 

“I don’t, though,” Kathleen persisted. “I 
think it’s just plain shyness. A new girl in a 
strange school always has a hard time making 
friends. And by the way, did you know that 
Mary Jane wasn’t sent to school at all until the 
truancy officer called on her uncle? You remem- 


MARY JANE 


19 


ber they moved here in August of last year, and 
Mary Jane didn’t enter school until October? 
Well, that was the reason. Mr. Mortimer was 
terribly disagreeable about it, too. He said the 
girl knew enough already, and that his wife 
needed her at home. That’s some of Helga’s in¬ 
formation, from her policeman cousin.” 

“Why, no, I didn’t know that. I remember 
she came in late, but I thought she’d been sick 
or something. You know she’s older than any¬ 
one else in the grade. She must be at least 
fourteen. I thought that perhaps she’d been out 
of school with a long illness, and had fallen be¬ 
hind. But if that’s the way her uncle feels, he’s 
probably kept her out as much as he dared, and 
that’s held her back. What a shame!” 

“Yes. It may be another reason why she’s 
slow about making friends. She’s taller and 
older than the rest of you girls, and maybe she 
feels out of place. Does she do good work?” 

“I shouldn’t say so,” Frances answered 
thoughtfully. “She never recites in class, unless 
she’s called on directly. Then she blushes and 
stammers and sits down as soon as she can. Her 
written work is fine, though. I had one of her 
English term papers to correct, and it was per¬ 
fect. You’d have thought a real author had 
written it. Her Latin translations are good, too, 


20 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


but she makes a perfect mess of the oral con¬ 
jugations.” 

“Well, all that just proves my theory, that 
she’s not stuck-up, but shy,” Kathleen insisted. 
“Of course I haven’t seen as much of her as you 
have, but that’s what I think.” 

“It does sound reasonable,” Frances agreed. 
“But if it’s so—why, my goodness, then it’s our 
fault that she’s had such a miserable lonely year 
at school! Mine, and Patty’s, and Charlotte’s! 
We could all have been nice to her, and we 
weren’t! You know how the girls are, Sis, they’re 
the friendliest crowd in the world, and we do have 
fun! I can see now Mary Jane must have thought 
we were deliberately leaving her out of things, 
and we thought she didn’t want to come in! Oh, 
what a mixup! And now, school’s out, and Patty 
and Charlotte are at camp, and the March twins 
have gone to their grandmother’s. There’s no 
one left in town but me! It’s just as bad with 
your crowd, too. We can’t give a party for her, 
because there’s no one to ask. But we’ve got to 
do something, we’ve just got to! Think, Sis, 
what can it be?” 

“I suppose it has to be done this very minute?” 
Kathleen smiled. “I’m afraid it isn’t quite that 
simple, honey.” 

Frances’ passion for “doing something” to 



MARY JANE 


21 


right any real or fancied wrong was a family 
joke. Scarcely a day passed but that she brought 
in some pitiful creature to be helped, a stray cat, 
a crippled dog or an unfledged baby bird. Mrs. 
Forrester complained mildly that whenever she 
wanted a bath she found the tub occupied by a 
foundling turtle or a bewildered minnow. Helga 
was constantly threatening to leave if Miss Fran¬ 
ces didn’t stop turning her kitchen into an in¬ 
firmary for sick animals. Last winter Frances 
had started out blithely, with the contents of her 
savings bank, to do her Christmas shopping. 
She had returned empty-handed because a blind 
beggar had looked so blue and shivery standing in 
the snow. 

Fourteen-year-old Kathleen, though she pre¬ 
tended to scoff at her younger sister’s tender¬ 
heartedness, had shared her own Christmas fund 
on that occasion. And she could usually be de¬ 
pended upon to lend a willing hand in binding 
up the wounded, and in pacifying Helga. 

Remembering Mrs. Mortimer’s rebuff of her 
mother, however, Kathleen felt now that an at¬ 
tempt to compensate Mary Jane for her lonely 
year at school might present difficulties, especially 
if carried out in Frances’ usual headlong, whole¬ 
hearted fashion. The idea of giving a party for 
her, for instance. Mary Jane might be willing 


22 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

to come, might be very happy to meet the For¬ 
rester girls’ friends. But it was just possible 
that Mary Jane’s willingness was not the only 
factor to be considered. 

Mrs. Mortimer’s consent would have to be 
obtained. And Frances’ word for Mary Jane 
flashed into Kathie’s mind. “ Stuck-up” exactly 
described Mary Jane’s aunt, Kathleen felt sure. 
The Mortimers were distinctly of the “new-rich” 
type. The lavish display of money was of su¬ 
preme importance to them. They did not want 
social contacts with the Medhurst people them¬ 
selves, and it was quite probable they would not 
want them for their niece. 

Only a small stretch of lawn separated the 
Forrester’s home from the Mortimer house. Be¬ 
cause Mrs. Mortimer’s shrill, harsh voice had 
a penetrating quality, Kathleen felt certain that 
not all of the scolding she heard was directed at 
the servants. 

Until today, Kathleen had said nothing of 
these suspicions to Frances. She now began to 
wish that she had remained silent. She could 
see nothing but trouble ahead if Frances’ passion 
for righting wrongs led to conflict with Mary 
Jane’s aunt. Sorry as Kathleen was for Mary 
Jane, she felt that an offer of friendship could 
only add to her difficulties. It was plain that 
Mrs. Mortimer did not wish her niece to make 


MARY JANE 23 

friends among the Medhurst girls. To urge her 
to do so hardly seemed wise. 

“I don’t think I’d do anything just now, Kit¬ 
ten,” she had started to say, when both girls 
were startled into silence. 

From somewhere in the depths of the Mortimer 
house, they heard a terrific crash, followed by a 
loud scream. 

An instant later a second-story window flew 
up almost over their heads. Framed in it the 
sisters saw the pale, frightened face of the girl 
they had just been discussing. 

“Oh, will you come, please?” she called. “Delia 
has had an accident! Oh, do hurry!” 

Kathleen and Frances ran at top speed to 
their own gate, and raced up the short drive¬ 
way leading to the Mortimer place. 

Mary Jane Smith met them at the open door 
and hurried them up the stairs. 

“She was cleaning the chandelier in my aunt’s 
room, and the stepladder gave way,” she ex¬ 
plained breathlessly. “I’m afraid she’s terribly 
hurt. The whole thing came down on her. She 
caught at it to save herself, I think. What shall 
I do?” 

They reached the head of the stairs, and Mary 
Jane turned toward a large front bedroom, from 
which came loud groans and wails. 

“I don’t believe she could make such a fuss if 


24 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


she were badly hurt,” Kathleen said reassuringly. 
“Do you want to telephone for a doctor while we 
do what we can for her? That will save time. 
Call Dr. Fielding. He’s the nearest.” 

Mary Jane obediently turned back to the tele¬ 
phone on the landing, and Kathleen entered the 
bedroom, followed by Frances. 

A stout Irish woman lay sprawled on the floor, 
in a tangle of broken stepladder, wrought iron 
scrollwork and shattered glass. 

Kathleen quickly pulled the twisted chandelier 
away, and Frances, after dragging the stepladder 
clear, ran to the bathroom for a towel dipped in 
water. 

Kathleen knelt and bathed the woman’s face. 
To her relief she saw at once that there were no 
deep cuts from the broken glass, but many bleed¬ 
ing scratches. 

“There, you’re all right now,” she said sooth¬ 
ingly. “The doctor’s coming, and we’re right 
here to help. Oh, do stop groaning and look at 
me! Where does it hurt most? Can you get up?” 

Delia opened her eyes. “Merciful powers, and 
it’s not kilt I am then at all, at all? Oh, glory 
be, and I made sure I was dead!” 

Kathleen laughed. “You’re a long way from 
being dead. Now let’s look you over and see 
what the damage really is. We won’t try to do 


MARY JANE 25 

much until the doctor comes, but I’m sure we 
can make you more comfortable. No, I’m not go¬ 
ing to hurt you. Any bones broken, do you 
think?” 

“All of them, then,” the cook answered 
promptly. “There’s a hole in the back of me 
head you can put your hand into, where that thing 
crashed onto me, bad luck to it! I can feel me 
ribs stickin’ into me heart. And both legs is 
broke, but the right one is worse broken than 
the left. Sure ye’d better be sendin’ for the 
priest, Miss, for it’s beyond the doctor’s help 
I am.” 

“Oh, come now, Delia, it can’t be as bad as all 
that,” Kathleen scoffed. “Here, let’s see that 
hole in the back of your head.” 

She passed her fingers over the sparse gray 
hair, and felt a rapidly swelling lump. 

“There’s no hole, but it’s a beautiful lump,” 
she reported cheerfully. “Here, feel for your¬ 
self.” 

She guided the old woman’s shaking hand to 
the spot. 

“I made sure it was a hole,” Delia said won- 
deringly. 

She sat up a little straighter, still leaning 
heavily against Kathleen, and looked down at 
her feet, stuck straight out in front of her. 


26 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“But me legs is broke all right,” she added 
gloomily. “I can tell by the feel of ’em. I’ll 
never walk again.” 

Rapidly, with the skill and confidence her Girl 
Scout training had given her, Kathleen proceeded 
with the examination. Although her hands were 
gentle, Delia winced and groaned at every touch. 

Just as she finished, Mary Jane stood in the 
doorway. 

“The doctor won’t be in for an hour—they said 
they’d send him right over. But we can’t wait 
that long, can we? I don’t know what to do. 
Oh, is it—do you think it’s serious?” 

Kathleen stood up, smiling. “Not very. She 
has a lump on the back of her head, and some 
bad bruises, especially a deep one on her chest, 
where the top of the ladder caught her. The 
scratches on her face aren’t anything. The one 
real injury seems to be her right ankle. I’m 
fairly sure it isn’t broken, but it’s badly sprained. 
If you two will help me, we’ll get her on the bed 
here and I’ll bandage it for her. Just a loose 
temporary dressing to make it feel better till the 
doctor comes.” 

“Oh, not this bed!” Mary Jane protested. 
“This is my aunt’s room. She’d never allow us 
to use it. Delia’s own room is at the back. We 
can get her there, can’t we?” 




MARY JANE 


27 


“I guess so,” Kathleen answered shortly. 
Then she relented as she saw the distress in 
Mary Jane’s eyes. After all, it wasn’t the girl’s 
fault if her aunt was such an ogress that one 
didn’t dare to make use of her possessions, even 
in an emergency. 

“Give her your shoulder, Francie. Here, 
Mary Jane, you come round on this side with me. 
Now, Delia, you’ll have to hop. Don’t put that 
foot down. Oh, yes, you can. Lean on us as 
heavily as you like. There now, slowly does it. 
That’s fine.” 

With infinite care they guided the groaning 
woman down the passage, and into a plain little 
room at the back of the house. 

As soon as she was safe on the narrow iron 
bed Kathleen turned to Mary Jane. 

“Have you any gauze and adhesive tape in 
the house? And how about witch hazel or al¬ 
cohol—something that will feel cool? All right, 
you show Frances where to find them, and then 
suppose you go down and make Delia a nice 
cup of hot tea while I put the bandage on. She’s 
coiner to feel a lot better in a very few minutes, 
I think.” 

Half an hour later the patient, comforted by 
cooling bandages and steaming tea, drifted into 
a peaceful sleep. 


28 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

The three girls hovered about for a few min¬ 
utes, then quietly left the room. 

“We won’t disturb her until the doctor comes,” 
Kathleen whispered. “She’s had a bad shaking 
up, and rest is the best thing in the world for 
her.” 

They had paused in the upper hallway, and 
Mary Jane silently motioned them to follow her 
along the passage. 

“I thought perhaps you would come up to my 
room for a little,” she said timidly. “I haven’t 
had a chance to thank you yet for all you’ve done, 
and my aunt doesn’t allow—she doesn’t like me to 
use the rooms downstairs.” 

“Of course we will,” Kathleen answered, 
glancing at her wrist watch. “We’ll stay until 
the doctor comes, if you like. There may be 
something he’ll want us to do.” 

“You are so good! Here, this is the way.” 

At the very end of the passage Mary Jane 
paused. 

Hanging from the ceiling of ornamental rough 
plaster was a red velvet cord, ending in a heavy 
fringed tassel. Mary Jane reached up pulled 
the tassel gently. To the amazement of her 
visitors, a flight of narrow wooden steps slid 
silently down and rested on the floor. 

“Good heavens, it’s a secret stairway!” 



MARY JANE 29 

“Oh, no, not secret. All these Spanish-type 
houses have them instead of attic stairs,” their 
hostess explained. “It saves space in the hall, 
you see. But I do like it. It gives me such a 
wonderful feeling of being cut off from every¬ 
thing, and of having a little castle of my own up 
here. See, I could pull the cord through on this 
side if I wanted to, and then nobody could 
possibly get into the attic. It’s like a draw¬ 
bridge. Only of course I never do that, because 
my aunt wouldn’t like it,” she added hastily. 

The girls followed her up the stairs, and the 
door at the top was left open, so that they might 
hear if Delia called. 

“I have never brought anyone up here before,” 
Mary Jane confided. “I do hope you like my 
castle.” 


CHAPTER II 
RAGTAG CASTLE 

The room, which Mary Jane was so eager 
to show Kathleen and Frances, extended the 
entire width of the house. There were four small 
windows, two at each end. The low ceiling was un¬ 
finished, with the rough beams showing, and the 
floor was of rough pine boards. 

At first it seemed merely a jungle of broken 
furniture, trunks, packing cases and barrels. 

But Mary Jane led the way quickly to a 
cleared space by the south windows where the 
the girls saw a small army cot, a dressing-table 
with a cracked mirror, and a battered chest of 
drawers. 

The sunlight was waning, so Mary Jane 
reached up and snapped on a single electric 
light, covered by a crepe paper shade. Follow¬ 
ing her, the girls saw a sofa drawn up under the 
windows. Its broken springs were sagging to 
the floor, and its velvet covering was split and 
faded. Mary Jane motioned them to sit down. 

30 


RAGTAG CASTLE 31 

“This is my very own room,” she said proudly. 

“And isn’t it nice!” Kathleen exclaimed. 

Frances looked at her sister in amazement. 
She had noticed the rather elaborate furnishings 
downstairs, and even the cook’s room, though 
plainly furnished, was luxurious compared with 
this ragtag attic. 

Did Mary Jane mean that she actually liked 
this place, with its jumbled odds and ends? And 
Kathleen, dainty, fastidious Kathleen, who must 
always have things just so, had spoken as if she 
truly admired it! 

“No one ever comes up here,” Mary Jane re¬ 
peated, with that unaccountable air of pride. 
“It’s all mine.” 

And suddenly Frances understood, with a 
swift rush of pity which brought stinging tears 
to her eyes. 

Why, of course, how stupid she had been! 
Mary Jane loved her attic because it was hers, 
the one place in the rich unfriendly house where 
she could feel at home. Her terror at the idea 
of putting Delia on her aunt’s bed, her apology 
for not taking them into the living-room for this 
little visit—these things told their story. This 
attic room was a refuge. It was here that she 
came to be alone, safe with the treasures that 
were hers because no one else thought them 
worth having. 



32 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

With new understanding Frances looked about 
her. The row of battered books on the nearest 
packing-case, the dressing-table contrived of a 
wooden box and faded cretonne, the home-made 
lampshade, the cot with its carefully darned 
white coverlet—of course these things were pre¬ 
cious to Mary Jane, just because they were her 
very own. 

“Oh, I like your castle too, Mary Jane,” she 
said quickly. “I—I think it’s just beautiful!” 
Her eyes met Kathleen’s.' Neither of them had 
ever uttered a white lie with a clearer con¬ 
science. 

Mary Jane’s sad face glowed. “I was afraid 
you might laugh at it,” she confessed. “You 
see, I don’t know any girls, and I’m afraid they 
don’t like me. My aunt says it’s silly to be so 
sensitive, but I can’t help it. It was such a re¬ 
lief when vacation came. I just hated going to 
school, knowing that the girls were laughing at 
my clothes.” 

“Your clothes!” Frances exclaimed. “But my 
dear, we all thought your clothes were gorgeous! 
WFy, we were afraid to speak to you, in our 
sweaters and cotton prints.” 

Mary Jane shook her head. “You can’t mean 
that, you only say it not to hurt my feelings. I 
know how I look in—these—” she broke off, 
looking down at her lap. 





RAGTAG CASTLE 


33 


She was wearing a yellow chiffon frock, a little 
frayed and faded, and it hung in awkward folds 
on her thin body. “I’d give anything, anything 
for a pink gingham dress that was made for 
mer she finished passionately. 

Frances twisted uncomfortably on the sag¬ 
ging sofa. “Oh, I don’t think clothes make 
much difference, one way or the other,” she ven¬ 
tured. “Anyway, we don’t judge our friends by 
their clothes, do we, Kathie?” 

“We certainly don’t,” her sister agreed, put¬ 
ting a warm hand over Mary Jane’s. “And 
you’re our friend now, so let’s forget clothes and 
talk about books. What do you read, mostly?” 

“You really mean that?” Mary Jane’s great 
dark eyes were traveling slowly from one sister 
to the other. “I have never had a friend. You 
really mean that you would be friends—with 

mer 

“That’s exactly what we mean,” Francie said, 
and squeezed Mary Jane’s other hand. Oh, 
there’s the doorbell! It must be the doctor.” 
And the girls hurried downstairs to hear his 

verdict on Delia’s injuries. 

Dr. Fielding’s examination confirmed Kath¬ 
leen’s judgment. He complimented her on her 
skilful first aid work, and ordered Delia to keep 
off her feet for several days. 


34 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

When he had gone Kathleen turned to Mary 
Jane. 

“We must go now. Mother will be wondering 
what in the world has happened to us. Are you 
sure you can manage all right by yourself? If 
you want help just call us. We’re close neigh¬ 
bors, you know, although I’m afraid we haven’t 
seemed very neighborly. We’ll run over the first 
thing in the morning and see how Delia is, any¬ 
way. Come along, Kitten.” 

But Frances lingered a moment to whisper 
shyly in Mary Jane’s ear. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t 
nicer to you when you first came, Mary Jane. 
I’m going to try awfully hard to make up for 
it now. Just wait, and you’ll see!” 


CHAPTER III 
GOOD NEWS 

“Where have you been, girls?” Mrs. For¬ 
rester was standing in the doorway, her pretty 
face bright with suppressed excitement. “I’ve 
looked all over for you!” 

“Oh, sorry, Mother dear, we were next door. 
Mary Jane Smith called us over. She’s the 
Mortimers’ niece, you know, and she’s in Fran- 
cie’s class at school.” 

“The little girl with the big eyes and the 
queer clothes? But I didn’t know that you knew 
her.” 

“Well, we didn’t, exactly,” Kathleen answered. 
“But their cook fell and hurt herself, and she 
asked us to come, Mary Jane did, I mean. Of 
course she knew who we were, because she 
sees us at school and around here. And I did 
my daily good deed by bandaging up the cook. 
No, it wasn’t anything serious, just a sprain. 
Then we stayed for a little talk. Mary J ane s 
really a darling, isn’t she, Francie?” 

“Oh, Mums, she’s the sweetest thing! And so 


35 


36 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


pathetic! That ferocious old aunt of hers just 
doesn’t let her call her soul her own!” Frances 
plunged eagerly into her impressions of Mary 
Jane’s home life. 

Mrs. Forrester listened sympathetically, but 
a little absently. Kathleen, scanning her moth¬ 
er’s face, cut the recital short. 

“Never mind all that now, Kitten. It will 
keep. If I’m not mistaken our lovely mother 
has some news of her own. With her well- 
known politeness she’s let you tell your story 
first. Now will you keep still and give her a 
chance? What is it, Mums? Is it a letter from 
Daddy?” 

Mrs. Forrester nodded, smiling. “A letter— 
with some wonderful news. Guess what?” 

“He’s coming home!” Frances shrieked. “Oh, 
let me see, read it to us, quick! Oh, Sis, aren’t 
you excited? When, Mums? Where’s the let¬ 
ter?” 

“Come and sit down, and we’ll read it to¬ 
gether.” 

Mrs. Forrester led the way into the pleasant 
living-room and sank upon the chintz-covered 
davenport by the window, with an eager daugh¬ 
ter on either side. From her pocket she pro¬ 
duced a thick envelope, and Frances pressed 
close against her shoulder. “Read it out loud, 



GOOD NEWS 37 

Mums!” she begged. “Every word. And please 
hurry!” 

Mrs. Forrester drew out the crackling pages. 
She was quite as excited as the sisters. Mr. 
Forrester was a civil engineer, and for the past 
two years he had been in China, directing the 
building of a bridge to span the mighty Ho- 
ang-ho Fiver. His last letter had told them 
that the task was almost completed, and that 
they could expect him home shortly, but they 
had not dared to hope that it would be as soon 
as this. 

“My dear ones” Mrs. Forrester obediently 
began reading aloud. “I had so many things to 
attend to at the last moment that I did not find 
time to write you that I was sailing. Will you 
forgive me? This letter , which I shall send by 
air-mail as soon as we land in San Francisco , 
will come to you as a surprise. I shall be with 
you again almost as soon as it reaches you, as I 
arrive in Medhurst by the 6:10 on Wednesday 
evening. I only hope you re all as glad as I 
am! 

“I have another surprise also” Mrs. For¬ 
rester read on, “ for which perhaps I should have 
prepared you in advance. I am bringing you a 
guest. 

“I forget whether I mentioned in my other 


38 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

letters that I had engaged an assistant here, a 
Russian political refugee named Boris Mazaroff. 
He has been invaluable to me, in fact it was his 
handling of the coolies which speeded up the 
work so that we have finished so soon. I want 
him for the Mexican job 1'm to start this fall, 
so Fm bringing him along. 

“If it isn't convenient to have him in the house 
this summer he can go to the hotel. Fm afraid 
he wont appeal to you a great deal. He's a 
refugee, as I said, a former officer in the Im¬ 
perial army. You can guess that he's had his 
troubles, and they've made him — well, you'll see 
for yourself. I like him, personally, but he's 
silent and reserved, not the best of company for 
young people. However, we'll settle that point 
when I arrive. 

“And now, my darlings, there is no more to 
write. I am counting every day, every hour, un¬ 
til 1'm home again. 

“With all my love, 

“Daddy." 

“Wednesday! Why, it’s day after tomor¬ 
row!” Frances had listened patiently enough to 
the reading of the letter, but it was very plain 
that only the first paragraph seemed important 
to her. 

“Oh, Mums, do you think he’ll know me? I’ve 



GOOD NEWS 


39 


grown such a lot! There’s all the difference in 
the world between ten and twelve, don’t you 
think? Do look at me, Mums. Have I changed 
much since Daddy went away?” 

Mrs. Forrester smiled down into the flushed 
little face. 

“Not such a lot that Daddy won’t know you, 
I’m sure. You’re wearing your curls long in¬ 
stead of bobbed, and you’ve lost some of your 
little-girl chubbiness. Those are all the changes 
I can see. He’ll know you by the dimples, dear. 
They haven’t changed.” 

Kathleen had taken the letter from her moth¬ 
er’s lap and was silently re-reading it. Her joy 
was quite as great as Francie’s, but she was 
quieter, and much less inclined to show her feel¬ 
ings. Presently she looked up. 

“This Russian gentleman—of course we’ll 
have him here, won’t we, Mother? You can see 
that Daddy wants him. What do you suppose 
he’ll be like?” 

Mother shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve 
ever seen a real Russian in my life. But, yes, 
we’ll fix up the guest room for him. And we’ll 
be nice to him, won’t we, girls? Even if he isn’t 
very pleasant company. Daddy’s been trying 
for years to find a really good assistant, some¬ 
one he can rely on to direct his workmen. If 



40 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

this man suits him, and he must, or Daddy 
wouldn’t be bringing him all the way from 
China, I’m very glad he found him.” 

“Let me read that part again,” Frances said. 
“I was so excited about Daddy’s coming home 
that I didn’t half listen. Do we have to have a 
stranger in the house all summer? I’m not a bit 
sure I’m going to like that.” 

“You’d better like it,” her sister warned her, 
handing her the letter. “Here, this is all it says 
about him.” 

Frances’ brow cleared as she read, and when 
she looked up her eyes were dancing. “Oh, I 
didn’t know he’d been an officer in the Imperial 
army! But that’s terribly romantic! There was 
a fascinating movie at the Adelphi last week, all 
about the Russian Revolution. The hero was 
just too noble for words. He was one of the 
Tsar’s officers too, and they were going to exe¬ 
cute him, and he said ‘Better a thousand times 
death than dishonor!’ He wore the sweetest uni¬ 
form, and he was handsome, oh, simply divine! 
Of course he didn’t really die, the girl saved 
him in the nick of time. And they were mar¬ 
ried and lived happily ever after. He was a 
prince. Do you suppose Daddy’s Russian could 
be a prince, Mums?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Forrester smiled. 


GOOD NEWS 


41 


“Daddy didn’t say anything about this Mr.— 
Mr. Mazaroff, isn’t it?—having a title.” 

“He could be a prince,” Kathleen put in, 
as Frances’ face showed her disappointment. 
“There were lots of princes in old Russia, and 
all the army officers were noblemen of some kind, 
weren’t they? Not that having been one is any 
use to poor Mr. Mazaroff now!” 

“Oh, but it’s a lot of use to me!” Frances 
breathed. “Just think of a prince sleeping in 
our guest room, and brushing his teeth before 
the very same mirror I do! Can you imagine 
it?” 

“Goose!” said her mother indulgently. “I sup¬ 
pose you’re already picturing this poor man as 
a fairy tale Prince Charming. It’s a long time 
since the war, and from what Daddy said he 
must have been through some unhappy expe¬ 
riences. Whatever he may have been once, he’s 
Daddy’s assistant and our guest now. So we’re 
going to be very nice to him and make him wel¬ 
come, aren’t we, girls?” 

“Of course we are.” Kathleen squeezed her 
mother’s arm. “We owe him a lot, really, be¬ 
cause Daddy says he couldn’t have finished so 
quickly if it hadn’t been for Mr. Mazaroff’s help. 
Let’s go tell Helga the good news, Francie. 
She’ll be tickled to death to have Daddy home 



42 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 
again. He’s always been her favorite of all 
of us.” 

That night, as the girls were preparing for 
bed, Frances glanced out of her window and 
noticed a lonely little light burning high in the 
otherwise dark house next door. 

“Poor Mary Jane,” she murmured. “I wish 
we could help her in some way.” 

Then her thoughts turned to more exciting 
things. “Just think, Sis! Baddy! The only 
thing is, I don’t see how I’m going to live 
through the hours till six o’clock Wednesday. 
And we’ll have him the whole summer long, not 
just a stingy little week or two. Do you sup¬ 
pose he’ll bring me a mandarin coat, Kathie? 
You remember I asked him when he went away, 
and he said he’d think about it? That meant, 
‘Yes,’ don’t you think?” 

“I expect so,” Kathleen answered absently. 
“Oh, I don’t care whether he brings us a single 
present, Francie. Just think, we’ll have him 
again!” 




CHAPTER IV 
MARY JANE’S PROBLEM 

The next day was a busy one. Helga, the 
Swedish maid-of-all-work who had been with 
the Forresters since Kathleen’s babyhood, 
plunged into a frenzy of housecleaning in prep¬ 
aration for the arrival of “the mister.” Both girls 
were pressed into service, and they willingly 
waxed furniture and polished silver, for it helped 
to fill the endless hours that seemed to stretch 
forward until Wednesday evening’s train. 

When the sisters had been quite small Mrs. 
Forrester had explained to them that Daddy’s 
profession called him to distant parts of the earth 
where they could not follow, and that, instead 
of complaining because their father could not 
be with them, they must be brave and accept 
his long absences cheerfully. 

She set them a splendid example, and life in 
the little household ran along very pleasantly, 
though there was always a sense of waiting, of 
wonderful things to be done “when Daddy comes 
home.” This last absence of two years was the 


43 


44 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

longest the girls could remember, but now even 
it was ending. 

In the late afternoon, the girls finished their 
final task. There was time enough, they decided, 
to run over to Mary Jane’s house before din¬ 
ner to see how Delia was getting along. 

Mary Jane opened the door, and her pale face 
lighted with pleasure, when she saw her visitors. 

“Oh, you did come, after all! I thought you 
had forgotten!” 

“Of course we didn’t forget,” Kathleen as¬ 
sured her. “We meant to come over the first 
thing this morning, but there’s been all kinds 
of excitement at our house. Just think of it! We 
haven’t seen our father in two years, and he’s 
coming home tomorrow!” 

“Your father?” Mary Jane echoed. “Why, I 
didn’t know you had one.” 

Kathleen laughed. “It’s a long story, and I’ll 
tell you all about it in a minute. But first of all, 
how is my patient?” 

“Delia? Oh, she’s doing splendidly. She’s 
asleep now, but she sat up for a little while after 
lunch, and the pain in her ankle is much better. 
But I’m keeping you standing here at the 
door. Do come in. I wonder—” Mary Jane 
blushed a little, “would you mind coming to 
the kitchen? I—my aunt—I mean, it’s really 




MARY JANE’S PROBLEM 45 


very pleasant out there. I’ll make us some lem¬ 
onade. It’s terribly hot today. You don’t mind?” 

“Of course not. I love kitchens!” Kathleen 
answered quickly. 

The sunny kitchen to which Mary Jane led 
them was a pleasant place, with its gaily painted 
breakfast nook. Still a little confused, their 
hostess seated them on a highbacked settle be¬ 
fore the table, and disappeared into the pantry. 

“I call that mean!” Frances whispered indig¬ 
nantly. Mrs. Mortimer doesn’t allow her to use 
the living-room! You remember, she told us the 
other day—” 

“Sh, I know,” Kathleen whispered back. 
“Poor Mary Jane, she can’t help it. Don’t 
hurt her feelings by noticing. Next time we’ll 
come to the back door. That’ll make it easier for 
her.” 

Mary Jane reappeared, with tall glasses in 
which ice tinkled pleasantly. 

“Now do tell me about your father,” she 
begged, dropping into the seat opposite them. 

Between sips of lemonade, Mary Jane lis¬ 
tened eagerly to the tale of Mr. Forrester’s 
travels, and of how he had returned so many 
times laden with beautiful gifts from strange 
lands. 

“It must be wonderful to have a father,” she 



46 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


said wistfully when they had finished. “And a 
mother. Two people who really belong to you! 
I’ve often wondered what it would be like.” 

“You are an orphan, then, Mary Jane?” 
Kathleen asked gently. “I didn’t know for sure.” 

“I’ve never been anything else,” the other girl 
answered. “At least, I can’t remember anyone 
but my aunt and uncle, who have taken care of 
me since I was a tiny baby. They have been 
very good,” she added hastily. “You mustn’t 
think I’m ungrateful. But it isn’t quite like 
they were my very own, is it?” 

Her dark eyes misted with tears, and it oc¬ 
curred to Frances that they were the saddest 
eyes she had ever seen. Even when Mary Jane 
was smiling, those enormous eyes looked mourn¬ 
ful, and the distress in them now was more than 
Frances could bear. 

She reached across the table and patted Mary 
Jane’s hand. 

“I am sorry—oh, I am!” she cried. “But 
please, Mary Jane, don’t be so sad! It’s dread¬ 
ful to have your parents dead, of course, but 
you must just think that they’re happy in 
heaven, and—and—” 

“But I can’t even think that!” Mary Jane 
broke in, and the dark eyes were stormy now. 
“How can they be in heaven, when they 


were 





MARY JANE’S PROBLEM 47 

wicked, cruel? Oh! I—I didn’t mean to tell you 
that!” she paused, aghast. 

“Well, I should hope not!” Frances exclaimed 
in horror. “The very idea of saying such a thing 
about your own parents! I never—” 

“Hush, honey.” Kathleen’s voice was stern, 
and Frances subsided. “I thought you didn’t 
remember your parents, Mary Jane,” she went 
on quietly. “Why do you say they were wicked 
and cruel?” 

“My aunt says so. And my uncle, too. And 
you can’t know how it hurts, Kathleen! Other 
girls lose their parents, but anyway they can 
think kindly of them. I can’t even do that. Do 
you wonder that I’m moody and queer? But 
you can’t understand, nobody can understand 
what it’s like to be me!” 

“I’m trying to understand,” Kathleen an¬ 
swered patiently. “What did your parents do, 
Mary Jane, that was so bad?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve asked my aunt, but she 
says it’s too terrible to talk about. All she will 
say is that I come of wicked, wicked people, and 
that I must be very grateful that she and my 
uncle were kind enough to take me in. No one 
else would. And I am grateful! But I just can’t 
do as she says and learn to hate my parents! I’ve 
tried, and I can’t do it, Kathleen!” 




48 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

With a warning look Kathleen checked the 
indignant exclamation that rose to her sister’s 
lips. Very carefully she chose her own words. 

“There is good in even the worst people, Mary 
Jane. Whatever your parents were like, they 
were your parents, and no one should expect you 
to hate them. Your aunt had no right to tell 
you to do that, and you should be glad, instead 
of sorry, that you can’t feel that way.” 

“But my aunt says—” 

“I don’t care what your aunt says,” Kathleen 
answered firmly. “You live in her house, and 
you owe her respect and obedience. But that 
doesn’t mean you have to think what she tells 
you to think. My goodness, you’re almost fif¬ 
teen years old, aren’t you? Surely that’s old 
enough to begin to think for yourself.” 

Mary Jane drew a deep breath. “If I only 
dared! I’ve tried to remember something about 
my father and mother, but I can’t, not the least 
little thing! But I dream of them, almost every 
night. At least, I dream of the parents I’d like 
to have had—I suppose that’s it. They’re al¬ 
ways sweet and gentle, with soft, loving voices, 
and then I wake and remember what my aunt 
said. You don’t know how dreadful that is!” 

“It must be,” Kathleen answered warmly. 
“And if I were you I’d stop bothering about 




MARY JANE’S PROBLEM 49 

what your aunt says. People have different ideas. 
What seems dreadful to your aunt might not be 
at all, if you knew everything. If she won’t give 
you any facts, you don’t have to take her opin¬ 
ion for absolute truth. I know if anyone tried 
to tell me my father was wicked, they’d have to 
give me a lot of proof before I’d even listen to 
them.” 

“Yes, but you know your father,” Mary Jane 
said forlornly. “That’s what hurts the most, not 
knowing! I’ve begged and begged my aunt to 
tell me about my people, but she never will. It’s 
like a black cloud that seems to smother me. I 
don’t think I’d mind anything if I could only 
know!” 

“Oh, well, cheer up,” Kathleen comforted. 
“You’ve been brooding over all this because you 
didn’t have anyone to talk to. If your aunt’s 
like that, well, she’s like that. There’s nothing 
you can do about it right now. Maybe when 
you’re older she’ll tell you more. So just stop 
worrying! I don’t believe for one minute that 
your father and mother were bad people, and I 
don’t see why you should believe it either.” 

“And you don’t think it’s ungrateful of me 
not to feel as my aunt tells me?” Mary Jane 
asked eagerly. 

“Certainly not! You have every right to 


50 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

think kindly of your parents, and I shouldn’t 
like you a bit if you didn’t. There now, don’t 
you feel better for talking it all out?” 

“Oh, I do! I never talked about it to anybody 
before. I—I dreaded telling you girls. Yes¬ 
terday, when you said we would be friends, I 
knew I’d have to, and I was afraid you wouldn’t 
want to be friends when you knew about me.” 

“Well, of all the crazy notions!” Frances 
broke in. “We told you yesterday, Mary Jane, 
that we don’t pick our friends by their clothes. 
And we certainly don’t pick them by their rela¬ 
tives! I don’t believe a word of it, anyway. 
Your aunt’s exaggerating some family squabble, 
giving you her side of it when she knows your 
poor dead parents can’t defend themselves. 
That’s mean and cowardly, and if you want to 
know what I think of that precious aunt of 
yours—” 

“She doesn’t, Kitten,” Kathleen interrupted. 
After all, Mary Jane had to go on living with 
her aunt, so there was no point in stirring 
her to indignation. “We’ve been serious long 
enough, anyway,” she went on. “Mary Jane is 
going to give up brooding over things that can’t 
be helped, and we’re going to have a lot of fun 
together this summer. Isn’t that right, Mary 
Jane?” 




MARY JANE’S PROBLEM 51 

Mary Jane’s smile was a little tremulous. “I 
hope so. But I’m afraid I don’t know much 
about having fun. It sounds nice.” 

“It’s great! you’ll love it!” Frances laughed. 

“But just the same— Oh, all right, Sis, I’ll 
keep quiet. But I could be arrested for what 
I’m thinking right now. Listen! The patient’s 
awake.” 

From over their heads came a sound of pound¬ 
ing, and Mary Jane got up quickly. 

“I told Delia to knock on the floor when she 
was ready for her tea. You’re coming up to see 
her, of course? She wants to thank you both. 
She’s really a dear old soul, much the nicest 
cook we’ve ever had. Just a minute, while I get 
her tray ready.” 

Frances followed her into the pantry, where 
she was slicing bread for toast. 

“And remember, no more gloom, Mary Jane,” 
she said threateningly. “I’ve had just about 
all I can stand this afternoon, I don’t mind tell¬ 
ing you. Listen, did you ever laugh? Right out 
loud? I’ll bet you never did. As a very special 
favor to me, would you mind trying it just 
once? Come on, now, don’t be stubborn. Just 
one great big laugh for Francie?” 

To her own surprise, Mary Jane responded 
to the suggestion with a half-hearted little 


52 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

chuckle. “Why, you’re right, I don’t believe I 
ever did that before!” she exclaimed. 

“It wasn’t so good,” Frances answered criti¬ 
cally. “Not enough steam behind it. Could have 
been worse, though, for a first attempt. Don’t 
be discouraged. You stick to me, Mary Jane. 
You’ll learn to laugh, and like it, before I’m 
through with you!” 


CHAPTER V 
BORIS MAZAROFF 

Wednesday’s train had come and gone. Mr. 
Forrester had been rapturously welcomed at 
the station and hurried home to a dinner which 
represented Helga’s idea of a fitting meal. It was 
one which might well have served as a banquet to 
visiting royalty. 

Quaint, delightful little gifts for all the fam¬ 
ily had emerged from Daddy’s suitcases. And 
there were exciting hints of more treasures to 
come when his trunks should be delivered. 

It was long past bedtime now, but Mrs. For¬ 
rester had not the heart to break up the family 
gathering in the cozy living-room. There were 
so many things to tell, and to hear. It was im¬ 
possible to realize that Daddy would be with 
them for the whole summer; that there would 
be tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, time 
enough for everything. 

Mr. Mazaroff, who looked frail and ill, had 
asked if he might go to his room immediately 
after dinner, so there was no strange presence 
to dampen the excited chatter. 

53 


54 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Frances had realized at first glance that their 
visitor was in no way like the dashing Russian 
nobleman of the motion picture. He was thin, 
almost emaciated, with white hair and a weary, 
lined face. He had scarcely spoken during din¬ 
ner, and he had eaten almost nothing. 

During a momentary pause in the after din¬ 
ner chatter, Daddy had asked Mother about their 
guest rather hesitantly. 

“What shall we do with Mazaroff, my dear? 
It was nice of you to put him up for the night, 
but he can perfectly well go to the hotel in the 
morning. He won’t be offended. All places are 
alike to him.” 

“Well, I don’t know, Hugh. It won’t incon¬ 
venience us to have him here if you want him. 
But—but—” 

“But you don’t think he’ll be much of an ad¬ 
dition to the family circle? I’m afraid you’re 
right there. He’s pretty gloomy, never a word 
to say, and I suppose the girls might find him 
rather a wet blanket. Maybe we’d better put it 
up to them.” 

“Tell us something about him, Daddy,” Kath¬ 
leen suggested. “Who is he, anyway? He speaks 
like an educated man, and his manners are per¬ 
fect. But there’s something odd about him. He 
—he just doesn’t seem to be here, somehow. His 




BORIS MAZAROFF 55 

eyes look right through you, and away off to 
something you can’t see.” 

“I know what you mean. The things he sees—- 
well, we can only guess at them, but they’re not 
pretty! I’ll tell you the little I know of him, and 
you can decide for yourselves, the three of you, 
whether you want him in the family.” 

He paused for a minute, and his audience 
waited for his next words with keen interest. “I 
found Boris at the inn in the little village where 
we established our construction camp,” Mr. 
Forrester began slowly. “He was doing odd 
jobs about the place for his keep, sleeping in 
the stables. He was dirty and ragged, half- 
starved, and suffering from an unhealed wound 
in his knee. You may have noticed that he limps 
still? The innkeeper told me he had wandered 
in from the North a year or two before. Boris 
is a ‘White’ Russian, if you know what that 
means. Sympathetic with the old regime, and 
against the Revolution. Many were killed when 
the Bolshevik government came into power, and 
others fled for their lives. Boris was one of 
these.” 

“But how did he ever get to China?” Kath¬ 
leen asked. “That’s clear across Asia.” 

“I don’t know, my dear. There are many 
White Russians in China. They made the night- 


56 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

mare journey somehow, against incredible hard¬ 
ships. Boris has told me very little of his wan¬ 
derings. I questioned him when I first engaged 
him, but all he said was that he had left Rus¬ 
sia, Tor political reasons.’ The important thing 
to me was that he is a graduate of the old Im¬ 
perial Military Academy, which in its day was the 
equal to our own West Point. That means that 
he is a thoroughly trained engineer. I thought I 
was very lucky to find such a man in such a place, 
and I didn’t ask too many questions.” 

T think he was lucky too,” Mrs. Forrester 
said. “Everyone would not engage a man who is 
so reticent about himself, especially for a po¬ 
sition of trust.” 

“I didn’t trust him too far at first,” Mr. For¬ 
rester smiled. “He started as gang boss over the 
coolies. He speaks Chinese and English, by the 
way, as well as a half dozen other languages. 
But he proved so competent that I gradually 
gave him more and more responsibility, until 
he finally became a full-fledged assistant. You’re 
thinking I should have investigated him more 
thoroughly, perhaps? Especially before bring¬ 
ing him here? Well, he’s a gentleman, and hon¬ 
est! He won’t run off with the spoons, if that’s 
what worries you. But, no, I can’t give you any 
assurances about the man. I took him on faith, 


BORIS MAZAROFF 57 

and I’ve had no reason to regret it. He’s proved 
invaluable on the job. He’s a hard worker, and 
he has plenty of courage. Why, there wasn’t 
another man in camp who’d have plunged into 
that raging torrent after me—” 

“What!” Mother sat up very straight. 
“Plunged into a ‘raging torrent’? ‘After you’? 
Hugh, what do you mean?” 

Mr. Forrester laughed a little shamefacedly. 
“There, I’ve told you, and I didn’t mean to! 
Now every time I go near a river you’ll be 
frightened that I’ll fall in. And I assure you it 
never happened before, and certainly won’t hap¬ 
pen again. But—well, I suppose you’ll have 
to have the story. 

“It was only a few weeks before we sailed. 
The Chinese government had asked me to look 
over a site on a smaller river, not far from the 
camp, where they were thinking of building a 
dam. I took Mazaroff and several coolies, and 
we made an overnight trip of it. 

“The place was in a deep mountain gorge, 
where the river is very swift, with a waterfall 
not far below. Not a practicable site, as it turned 
out, and the idea of the dam has been abandoned. 
But you don’t care about that. I was making a 
rough survey from the bank, and—oh, there’s 
no excuse for me—I lost my balance and fell in.” 




58 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


“How terrible!” Frances, perched on her 
father’s lap, clutched him tightly around the 
neck as though the danger had not yet passed. 
“Go on, Daddy! What happened?” 

“It wouldn’t have been serious, except that I 
hit my head on a rock and was temporarily 
stunned, so that I couldn’t help myself at all. 
The strong current was carrying me away, and 
without a moment’s hesitation Mazaroff plunged 
in after me. Somehow or other he steered us both 
to a big boulder in mid-stream, and held us there 
until the men could get a rope across. I wasn’t 
a bit the worse for it, but poor Boris got a sharp 
attack of pneumonia from being in the icy water 
so long. For a while I was afraid he wouldn’t 
pull through. There, that’s all. Quite a tame 
story, really, and you must never mention it to 
him. He hates having a fuss made over it.” 

“Tame!” Mrs. Forrester exclaimed. “But the 
man saved your life! Do you mean that we’re 
not even to thank him?” 

“Much better not. I’m thanking him in the 
only way I can, by taking him out of his 
wretched surroundings and giving him a chance 
in his profession. Not that that’s any great kind¬ 
ness on my part, for he’s going to be mighty 
useful to me. But he’d much rather have noth¬ 
ing said about the life-saving stunt, and if you’ll 


BORIS MAZAROFF 59 

just be nice to him, and make him feel at home in 
a strange land, it’ll be the best way you can 
thank him.” 

“Well, we’ll certainly do that!” Mother agreed 
fervently. “Of course there’s no question of his 
going to the hotel now, is there, girls?” 

“I should say not!” Kathleen answered, but 
she spoke for both. “He looks terribly ill. We’ll 
do everything we can to take care of him. I 
don’t see how we can ever do enough to repay 
him for what he did for you, Daddy.” 

“And we won’t mind if he’s the worst old 
grouch in the world,” Frances promised. 

“I don’t think he’s that, dear. He’s silent by 
nature, and right now he’s weak from illness. 
But he hasn’t an unpleasant personality at all, 
when you come to know him. I’m hoping that 
a summer of rest here, with good food and no 
worries, will put him on his feet again.” 

“Well, we’ll do our share,” Mrs. Forrester 
said. “And speaking of rest—look at the clock! 
You must get to bed, darlings. Daddy’s tired, 
I know. And remember, he’ll be here when you 
wake up in the morning.” 



CHAPTER VI 
“WHILE THE CAT’S AWAY” 

This summer vacation, which had begun as 
rather a dull one for the Forrester girls, was 
proving unusually pleasant. It was exciting to 
have Daddy coming home to dinner every night, 
to sit with him through the long warm evenings, 
and to listen to his vivid descriptions of life in a 
Chinese village. They saw nothing of him dur¬ 
ing the day, since his business affairs took him 
into the city every morning, but for the day¬ 
time there was Mary Jane. 

Delia was still helpless in her chair, and Mary 
Jane did not like to leave her. Most of the visit¬ 
ing, therefore, was done by Frances and Kath¬ 
leen. Almost every afternoon was spent in the 
Mortimer kitchen, or in Mary Jane’s attic room. 

Old Delia, as the pain left her, proved to be 
a jolly soul, needing little actual care, and sin¬ 
cerely anxious that her young charge should en¬ 
joy herself, “While the chanst is on ye,” as she 
said darkly. Delia had been employed by Mrs. 
Mortimer for only a short time, but she was the 
first of the long succession of servants to take a 


60 


“WHILE THE CAT’S AWAY” 61 

motherly interest in Mary Jane, it appeared, and 
the girl was devoted to her. 

“I’m so afraid she won’t stay,” she told them 
once. “They never do stay very long with my 
aunt. And Delia’s so good! She’s as pleased 
that you girls are nice to me as, well, as I am!” 

Kathleen had smiled at that, and remarked 
that Delia was an old dear, but even as she 
spoke a thought came to her. Delia was pleased 
that Mary Jane had made friends of her own 
age. But would the mistress of the house be 
equally pleased? 

Impatiently she dismissed the thought. They 
were doing no harm, and Mary Jane was happy 
in the new comradeship. Why should her aunt 
object? Naturally when Mrs. Mortimer re¬ 
turned they would not spend so much time in 
her house. Mary Jane always had many more 
duties when her aunt was home, and her leisure 
was limited. But that was all the more reason 
why she should enjoy her vacation now. 

The sisters were surprised to learn the variety 
of tasks which Mary Jane spoke of as hers. Or¬ 
dinarily her aunt kept a general maid and a 
houseman-chauffeur who also looked after the 
lawn and furnace. These, with a cook, would 
seem an adequate staff for so small a family, but 
Mrs. Mortimer apparently thought otherwise. 


62 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Mary Jane had always done the dusting and the 
dishwashing, she told them. When she was very 
small her aunt taught her to darn and mend, 
and she kept Mrs. Mortimer’s large wardrobe 
in order. In addition to these regular duties, she 
“helped out” wherever she was needed, in the 
frequent intervals between servants. Mary 
Jane’s accomplishments covered every phase of 
domestic work, from salad making to furnace 
tending. 

Mary Jane spoke of her work in the house 
as a matter of course, and without resentment. 
As she was dependent upon the charity of her 
aunt and uncle, she considered it only right that 
she should make herself useful. Although she 
was too honest to pretend an affection she could 
not feel, she always spoke of her relatives with 
careful respect. She did not again refer to the 
confidences she had made that day in the kitchen. 
And her new friends had almost forgotten them. 

Perhaps the Mortimers weren’t so bad after 
all, Kathleen told herself comfortably. They 
were giving the girl a home, and she was being 
fed, clothed, and educated. Kathleen’s own 
mother believed that the daughters of the house 
should help with the household tasks, although 
certainly not to the extent that Mrs. Mortimer 
insisted upon. With the strident voiced aunt so 


“WHILE THE CATS AWAY” 63 

far away, it was easy to reassure oneself. Mary 
Jane had grown, as she herself put it, “moody 
and queer” because she was lonely. That was all. 
Now that she had friends, everything would be 
all right. 

So Kathleen reasoned, and she congratulated 
herself on being sensible. 

Only tenderhearted little Frances still re¬ 
membered the despair in Mary Jane’s dark eyes 
as she had cried, “Oh, if I could only know!” 
Such longings are not easily stilled, even though 
one has learned to laugh and be cheerful, Frances 
thought. 

In her bed at night, while Kathleen slept 
peacefully beside her, Frances would puzzle over 
the strange girl’s problem. Who was she? Who 
were her parents? What was the dreadful thing 
they had done, the “wickedness” of which Mrs. 
Mortimer spoke so definitely? Was it something 
so terrible that she had refused, out of kindness, 
to tell the girl? Frances considered that idea, and 
rejected it. There was nothing in the aunt’s 
treatment of Mary Jane to show that there was 
any kindness in her nature. 

Then why didn’t she tell whatever it was? 
Frances felt, as she knew that Mary Jane did, 
that even the knowledge that one was the child of 
criminals could not be as bad as this dark secrecy. 


64 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


If only they had some clue, some way of finding 
out the truth! But there was none, and as drowsi¬ 
ness approached each night, Frances could only 
fall back on her old resolution to be “extra nice” 
to poor Mary Jane, to make up to her for all her 
loneliness and worry. 

The two girls were tidying up their room on a 
morning just a week after Daddy’s return. They 
were hurrying, because they had invited Mary 
Jane to luncheon. It was the first opportunity 
they had had of presenting their new friend to 
their mother. 

“Is Mr. Mazaroff going to be here, I wonder?” 
Frances asked. “I haven’t seen him since break¬ 
fast. Did he go into town with Daddy?” 

“No, he’s lying down in his room. I heard 
Daddy tell him not to get up today. He had a 
bad night. He was coughing a lot, and I thought 
he looked perfectly ghastly at the breakfast 
table.” 

“It’s a shame he doesn’t get better,” Frances 
said sympathetically. “Daddy says he isn’t really 
sick, he’s just utterly worn out and exhausted. 
Does it always take this long to get well after 
pneumonia?” 

“Oh, no, not if the person has been healthy be¬ 
fore having it. But poor Mr. Mazaroff has been 
through a lot! Half-starved, and sleeping out 


“WHILE THE CAT’S AWAY” 65 

in the cold! He must have had a terrible time 
before Daddy rescued him.” 

“Poor man! What do you really think of him, 
now that he’s been here a whole week, Kathie? 
Do you like him?” 

“I think I do,” Kathleen answered consider¬ 
ingly. “At first I felt, well, not at ease with him. 
His manners are exquisite, but he’s so solemn 
and silent that he made me feel uncomfortable. 
I’m getting used to him now, though. And I 
realize that he isn’t unfriendly, he’s just unin¬ 
terested. Nothing in the world seems to matter 
to him. Except Daddy, of course. The only time 
he wakes up and talks is when he and Daddy dis¬ 
cuss this new Mexican job. The rest of the time 
he’s just like a shadow in the house.” 

“Oh, well, I suppose it’s just because he’s been 
ill,” Frances commented. “7 like him, at least, I 
would if he’d let me. I never can think of a thing 
to say to him, but I love the way he bows, and he 
treats Mother as if she were a duchess. And he 
certainly tries not to give trouble. When he 
doesn’t go to town with Daddy he sits out on the 
lawn in a deck chair and doesn’t bother anybody.” 

“That’s what Daddy wants him to do—rest, I 
mean,” Kathleen said. “He told Mr. Mazaroff 
this morning that he could help a lot more by 
getting his strength back, than by going to the 


66 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

office. I wonder if he’s coming down to luncheon? 
I’d rather he didn’t, since Mary Jane will be 
here. She’s so painfully shy with strangers.” 

“He’ll come down,” Frances predicted. “He’d 
never give Helga the trouble of fixing a tray for 
him. Is that all up here, Sis? Let’s go. Mary 
Jane ought to be here any minute.” 

They found Mr. MazarofT in the living-room, 
as Frances had predicted. Mother was scolding 
him gently for getting up, but he insisted that 
he had had a long nap, and felt much better. 

The door bell rang, and Frances ran to admit 
Mary Jane. Since Mr. Mazarofi* was to be with 
them, she found herself wishing, for an instant, 
that her guest had had other clothes to wear. 

An elaborate gown of mauve satin, did nothing 
to emphasize Mary Jane’s unusual and beautiful 
combination of dark eyes and ash blonde hair, and 
she looked shy and uncomfortable. Her chiffon 
stockings showed several neatly-mended “runs,” 
and her high-heeled slippers were badly scuffed. 
The sisters had explained to Mother about Mary 
Jane’s clothes, but the strange gentleman would 
think—what could he think? Certainly that their 
friend had no taste whatever! 

But his grave courtesy when Mary Jane was 
presented held no hint of criticism. As they 
seated themselves at the table, Frances reflected 


“WHILE THE CAT’S AWAY’’ 67 


comfortably that probably he hadn’t noticed, 
after all. Mother, bless her, was being very 
sweet to the guest, and soon Mary Jane was 
settling into the circle as though she belonged 
there. 

When lunch was over, Kathleen and Frances 
carried Mary Jane off to their own room. She 
glanced around the sunny, airy place with delight. 
It was simple enough, with its green painted 
furniture and bright cretonne hangings, but it 
was palatial by comparison with Mary Jane’s 
tumbled attic. 

“We’re going to the movies later in the after¬ 
noon, Mary Jane,” Frances announced. “I know 
you said you’d never been allowed to go, but your 
aunt can’t object to this. It’s a new travel 
picture, and they say it’s wonderful.” 

“Oh, I don’t think—” 

“Of course you’re going! Mother doesn’t like 
us to go to just any picture that comes along, 
either. But this is different.” 

“You mustn’t try to influence Mary Jane, 
Francie,” Kathleen warned. “If her aunt doesn’t 
approve of motion pictures—” 

“Oh, it isn’t that,” Mary Jane explained. “She 
and my uncle often go. But she thinks it’s a waste 
of time for me to go, besides the expense. So I’ve 
never seen a picture.” 




68 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


“Well, if that’s all, there’s no reason why you 
shouldn’t see one this afternoon,” Kathleen said 
briskly. “You’re our guest, and you’re not 
neglecting any duties. We’ll stop at your house 
and see that Delia has some magazines to read. 
She won’t mind being left, I know. So that’s 
settled.” 

“Oh, you’re so good!” Mary Jane exclaimed. 
“You are always doing nice things for me; I 
don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you. 
And your mother was so sweet to me, and the 
foreign gentleman was so polite. I do think this 
is the pleasantest house I’ve ever been in!” 

And that’s not saying a lot, Frances reflected, 
pityingly. If she’s always lived with that awful 
aunt, this is the only pleasant house she’s ever 
been in. Well, things are going to be as pleasant 
for her as I can make them, she resolved again. 

“We’d better be going, I expect,” Kathleen 
said presently. “You don’t want to miss even a 
little of your first movie, Mary Jane. I think 
you’re going to like it!” 


CHAPTER VII 
THE MAN WITH THE BEARD 

Delia’s ankle was so much better now that she 
was able to hobble downstairs, although the doctor 
still forbade her to stand for any length of time. 

She hated idleness, and insisted on taking the 
preparation of their meals out of Mary Jane’s 
hands, leaving her only the care of the house. 
This did not amount to a great deal, since 
most of the rooms were closed in Mrs. Mortimer’s 
absence. Mary Jane found herself with more 
free time than she had ever known. 

Frances discovered to her disappointment that 
it was impossible to draw Mary Jane into the circle 
of her own acquaintances. Only a few girls of 
“the crowd” remained in town for the long hot 
summer, but Frances gave a little party one 
afternoon for the half-dozen available, and asked 
Mary Jane to meet them. All of the girl’s stiff 
shyness returned. She sat silent and uncomfort¬ 
able throughout the afternoon’s chatter. 

“It’s her clothes, I suppose,” Frances confided 
to her sister later. “She’s conscious of them all 
the time, and it’s no use telling her the girls don’t 


69 


70 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

care what she wears. I’m so disappointed. I 
thought she’d love this, and it’s only made her 
miserable.” 

“Well, never mind, honey,” her sister con¬ 
soled her. ‘‘She has to get used to people some¬ 
time, and it’s bound to be awkward at first. Next 
time it’ll be easier, now that she’s found the girls 
don’t bite. Let’s take her on a hike, and just ask 
’Lisbet and Molly. Get her accustomed to society 
in small doses.” 

Kathleen’s plan worked out more satisfactorily. 
Both Kathleen and Frances were delighted to see 
Mary J ane listening with unself conscious interest 
as Molly told her the story of the “Lover’s Leap” 
rock where they ate their picnic luncheon. 

They realized, however, that Mary Jane was 
happiest when only the three of them were to¬ 
gether, and so they did not insist that she make 
many new acquaintances. That would come 
about more naturally when school opened again. 

That Mary J ane was happy in this new world 
of leisure and laughter, of “having fun,” could 
not be questioned. She seemed to bloom before 
their eyes. Her cheeks lost their sallow paleness, 
and a delicate peach tint showed through the 
healthy sun-tan. The drooping corners of her 
mouth lifted. The great dark eyes lost their look 
of patient sadness. Even Mary Jane’s queer 


THE MAN WITH THE BEARD 71 

clothes could not hide the fact that now she was 
actually pretty. 

On a rainy afternoon about two weeks from 
the day of Delia’s injury, the three girls were 
gathered in Mary Jane’s attic. The sisters were 
embroidering a set of guest towels for Mother’s 
birthday, and, since it was to be a surprise, they 
kept their work at Mary Jane’s. She was working 
on the towels too, in an effort to show her ap¬ 
preciation for Mrs. Forrester’s kindness. 

Mary Jane had been very quiet all afternoon, 
and Frances, glancing at her as she bent over her 
work, wondered uneasily if her face did not show 
a trace of the old unhappiness. Although she 
tried to dismiss the thought, it persisted. At last 
she asked, “Is there anything wrong, Mary Jane? 
You look as though you had something on your 
mind.” 

Mary Jane started. “Do I? How can you 
tell?” 

“Never mind how. What is it, anyway? Have 
you had bad news?” 

Mary Jane dropped her embroidery frame on 
her lap. “I’m afraid I have, Francie. My aunt 
and uncle will be home tonight.” 

“Oh, is that all?” Frances laughed. “I thought 
it must be something dreadful.” 

“It is dreadful,” the other girl answered slowly, 


72 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“to me, that is. For it means the end of our 
friendship, and of all our good times. Oh, I 
know it’s hard for you to believe that! she went 
on passionately. “Your people are so different. 
They want you to be happy, to have friends! 
These two weeks have been just part of your 
everyday life to you, but to me they ve been a 
kind of dream, from which I always knew I’d 
have to wake. I—I don’t want to complain, but 
I’ve known all along that our good times couldn t 
last. And I’ve told myself, that when the time 
came to give them up, I’d do it without making 
a fuss. I meant to have this one lovely afternoon 
without saying anything, and then tell you quietly 
that it was all over, Francie.” 

Her eyes were dry, but filled with the old 
misery which Frances had hoped was gone for¬ 
ever. 

Helplessly she groped about for consolation. 
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad, honey. Of course 
you’ll have more work to do when your aunt’s 
home, and I know she’s cross, but you’ll still 
have us. That ought to help.” 

“But I won’t be allowed to have you!” Mary 
Jane insisted. “Cant you understand? I’m not 
allowed to have friends! I never have been! My 
aunt says it’s a wicked waste of time, running 
around with other girls, and she has never per- 


THE MAN WITH THE BEARD 73 

mitted it. There’s always work for me to do 
when she’s here, anyway. It’s no use hoping. 
She won’t let me go to your house, or let me in¬ 
vite you here. She won’t let me!” 

“Are you sure, Mary Jane?” Kathleen asked. 
“It doesn’t sound reasonable to me. You must 
have had some playmates when you were little, 
surely.” 

“I never did,” Mary Jane answered drearily. 
“Oh, I know it doesn’t sound reasonable to you. 
It doesn’t to me, now, though it always seemed 
natural enough before you came. After all, I’m 
only a poor relation. I don’t want to criticize my 
aunt, and I do try to remember to be grateful. 
But you don’t know what it’s like in this house! 
I’ve tried so hard, ever since I was a tiny bit of a 
thing, to please her, and I never can. Everything 
I do is wrong, everything I want is wicked. 
Sometimes—I suppose this is wicked too, but 
sometimes I wish my aunt hadn’t been quite so 
kindhearted. An orphan asylum would have 
saved her all the trouble I’ve been, and—and it 
would have been pleasanter for me!” she ended 
bitterly. 

“But Mary Jane, how dreadful!” Frances 
stared at her. “Do you mean that she—she’s 
cruel to you?” 

“No, I don’t mean that,” Mary Jane answered. 




74 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“She isn’t cruel. The policeman asked me that 
too, and I didn’t even know what the word meant, 
I was so little. So he asked if my aunt beat me, 
and I said, ‘No,’ and he asked if I got enough 
to eat, and I said, ‘Yes,’ and—oh, I don’t know. 
He was nice, and I thought he was going to help 
me. But after he asked all those questions, he 
took me back to her.” 

“Policeman? What are you talking about, 
Mary Jane?” Kathleen demanded. “What 
policeman? When? Where?” 

“The time I ran away. I haven’t told you 
about that, I guess. It was when we lived in 
New York. I was only about nine. I—my aunt 
scolded me about something, and she’d been 
talking about how dreadful my parents were. 
Suddenly I thought I wouldn’t stand it any 
longer, I’d just go away. So I went down the 
backstairs while my uncle and aunt were having 
dinner. I walked and walked. I never have 
known where I went. It got dark and cold, but 
I kept on walking. And at last I came to a place 
down around the docks, where the boats come in. 
I was so cold and tired I started to cry, and some 
men found me. They took me to the police 
station, and the men there were so good. They 
gave me some sandwiches and milk, and then the 
man at the desk asked me all those questions— 


THE MAN WITH THE BEARD 75 

about who I was and why I ran away. I thought 
they would let me stay there, but when they found 
out my aunt didn’t beat me or starve me they 
said I’d have to go back to her. The man at the 
desk told me that children had to stay with their 
own people, and that I mustn’t be so silly again. 
Sol knew running away wasn’t any use, and I’ve 
never tried since. They’d just make me go back.” 
And Mary Jane looked more hopeless than ever. 

“Well, that was a silly thing to do,” Frances 
commented. “Running away without having any 
place to go, I mean. And of course if you were 
only nine—! You could do it now, though. 
You’re older, and you know how to work. You 
could get a job somewhere, and—” 

“Francie!” Kathleen interrupted her. “Don’t 
go putting such ideas in her head. Fourteen or 
nine, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. That 
policeman was perfectly right; girls do have to 
stay with their people until they’re of age, unless 
they’re being so cruelly treated the law will do 
something about it. And that’s not the case with 
Mary Jane. She’ll just have to stay with her aunt 
and uncle until she’s eighteen, and make the best 
of it.” 

“She has to stay with her family, but must it 
be the Mortimers?” Frances asked suddenly. “I 
mean—Mary Jane, haven’t you any other 





76 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

relatives? Isn’t there someone who’d take you 

in, if you’re so unhappy here?” 

The girl shook her head. “My aunt has always 
said I was alone in the world, and that I d have 
to depend on charity if it weren’t for her.” 

“But there might be someone,” Frances in¬ 
sisted. “You must have some cousins, or some¬ 
thing. Everyone has. Doesn’t your aunt ever 
have any relatives come to see her?” 

“Never. Nor my uncle either. They have lots 
of visitors, of course, but none of them are 
relatives. They’re mostly business friends of 
my uncle’s, and their wives. They never pay 
any attention to me, of course. They probably 
think I’m just one of the maids.” 

“But when you were little?” Frances would 
not give up. “Oh, try to remember, Mary Jane, 
it’s important! Didn’t anyone ever come to the 
house who said, ‘So this is little Mary Jane! 
My, how big she’s getting!’ You know, the way 
cousins and aunts do? Can’t you remember some¬ 
one like that?” 

“No, I can’t. Oh—” Mary Jane broke off sud¬ 
denly. “There was the Man with the Beard. 
I’m sure he wasn’t a relative, though.” 

“Well, what about him? Tell us!” Frances 
demanded. 

“All right, but I don’t see what good it will 



THE MAN WITH THE BEARD 77 


do,” Mary Jane answered slowly. “It’s the very 
earliest thing I can remember, and I don’t know 
why it has stuck in my mind for so long. 

“I couldn’t have been more than three, I’m 
sure. We were living in a small apartment in 
New York, one that only had one bedroom, so 
that I had to sleep in a crib in one corner of it. 
We moved several times after that, and all I can 
remember of this first place is the bedroom. 

“The living-room was next door, and I woke 
quite suddenly in the middle of the night—at 
least it seemed that late to me—to hear voices in 
the next room. My uncle’s, and a stranger’s. 
My aunt must have been out. They rumbled on 
and on, and I couldn’t go to sleep again because 
of the noise, although I didn’t understand a word 
they were saying. 

“Then the voices grew louder, and I saw my 
uncle coming in the bedroom door, followed by a 
very fat old man with a big bushy white beard. 
My uncle turned on the light, and I could see the 
man quite plainly before I shut my eyes. I pre¬ 
tended to be asleep, for I knew I d be scolded for 
being awake at that time of night. But when I 
saw they weren’t paying any attention to me, I 
opened my eyes again and peeped.” 

“Oh, go on,” Frances urged, as Mary Jane 
hesitated for a minute. “What did they do?” 




78 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“They went over to my uncle’s desk by the 
window,” she resumed. “I don’t know why it was 
kept in the bedroom, but it was. And he took a 
small leather bag, rather like a tobacco pouch I 
think now, from one of the desk drawers, and 
brought it over to the table under the light. He 
loosened the drawstring and dumped everything 
in it on the table. And the most beautiful jewels 
came out of that bag. Rings, and bracelets, and 
a long string of glittering beads that I am sure 
must have been diamonds, though I didn’t know 
the word then.” 

“Oh, this is exciting!” Frances exclaimed. 
“Do you think—but I mustn’t interrupt. What 
did they do with them?” 

“The Man with the Beard picked them up and 
looked at them one by one. He had a funny glass, 
the kind jewelers use, screwed into his eye. And 
they talked a lot, all about money. I couldn’t 
understand very well. At last they picked up 
the necklace, and then they argued a long time. 
Finally I heard him say quite distinctly, 'Well, 
take it or leave it. That’s my best offer.’ So my 
uncle said, 'All right. But it is robbery.’ And 
the man put the necklace in his pocket and pulled 
out a wallet and gave my uncle a lot of bills. 
They put the other jewels back in the bag, and 
put the bag back in the desk. I shut my eyes tight 



THE MAN WITH THE BEARD 79 

then, for they had to pass my crib to get to the 
door. And—and then—” 

Mary Jane shivered. “They stopped by the 
crib, and the strange man bent over me, so low 
that I could feel his prickly beard brush my face. 
I was afraid even to breathe. Then he straight¬ 
ened up again, and said with a kind of laugh, 
‘So this is the child! What are you planning to 
do with the little monkey? I can find you an 
orphanage where no questions will be asked.’ 

“You can guess how that frightened me, and 
I remember how relieved I was when my uncle 
answered. ‘No, thanks, we’re keeping her. A 
girl can always make herself useful around the 
house, and my wife has a fancy to be served by 
one of that family. You can appreciate that.’ 
They both laughed then, and my uncle turned 
out the light and they went away.” 

She stopped, and Frances’ face showed her 
disappointment. “But is that all? Because it 
doesn’t tell me a thing.” 

“I didn’t suppose it would,” Mary Jane an¬ 
swered. “I only told you because you asked if 
any of my uncle’s visitors had ever taken any 
notice of me. That was the only time. I never 
saw the Man with the Beard again, and I have no 
idea who he was.” 

“But he did know something about you,” 




80 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Kathleen, who had been listening silently, put in. 
“He knew what your uncle meant by that 
family,’ meaning yours. By the way, that was 
an odd thing to say. Wouldn’t it be his family, 

too, your uncle’s, I mean?” 

Mary Jane looked bewildered. “I never 
thought of that. It does seem odd, doesn’t it?” 

“Maybe the relationship is on your aunt’s side,” 
Kathleen went on. “But still—‘she has a fancy 
to be served by one of that family—’ it s a queer 
way to put it if he meant her family. You’re sure 
that’s what he said, Mary Jane? It’s so long ago, 
maybe you’ve mixed it up.” 

“No, those were exactly the words,” she said 
positively. “I don’t know why I’ve remembered 
them so clearly, but I have. I’m certain of them.” 

“Well, then, let’s see,” Kathleen thought hard. 
“ ‘That family—’ not ‘her family’ or ‘my family.’ 
Just what is the relationship between you and 
the Mortimers, Mary Jane? Was your aunt a 
sister of your father or mother? Or was your 
uncle a brother?” 

Mary J ane shook her head helplessly. “They’ve 
never told me anything! But I don’t see how 
they could either of them speak of a brother or 
sister as they always speak of my parents.” 

“I know, you told us,” Kathleen interposed 
hastily. “It’s a mysterious business, any way you 




THE MAN WITH THE BEARD 81 

look at it. Forgive me for asking, but is it 
absolutely certain that your parents are dead?” 

“Oh, yes, that’s the only thing I am certain of,” 
Mary Jane answered forlornly. “I mean, it’s the 
only thing my aunt has told me definitely. They 
died when I was a baby. All the rest is just dark 
hints about how wicked they were, and how much 
I owe to her charity. That’s all I know about 
myself, and all I’ll ever find out from her.” 

“Well, I don’t think it’s enough!” Frances 
spoke with sudden violence. “I’ve kept my 
thoughts about your relatives to myself, Mary 
Jane, but I’ll just burst if I don’t come out with 
it sometime! It’s all very well to tell you to be 
grateful, but for what? No, I won’t hush, 
Kathleen! Mary Jane does a servant’s work in 
this house, and she doesn’t even get a servant’s 
wages. Is that anything to be grateful for? And 
on top of it all, this cruel talk about her dead 
parents. Wicked? Why, if you want to know, 
I don’t believe anyone could be as wicked as those 
Mortimers! And I’d like to tell them so.” 

“Francie, stop!” Kathleen begged. “I’m 
ashamed of her, Mary Jane. She—” 

“Oh, it’s all right,” Mary Jane answered 
seriously. “You just don’t understand, Francie. 
I don’t mind the work, and I don’t mind the 
scoldings, really, I don’t. They’re nothing. But 



82 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

the one thing that does make me unhappy is this 
mystery about my parents. If I could only 
know! When we talked about it that day in the 
kitchen you were such a comfort, Kathie. Do 
you remember what you said? That maybe my 
parents weren’t really bad, and that it was all 
right for me to think of them kindly. I’ve been so 
much happier since then, that I’ve almost per¬ 
suaded myself that I’m like other girls. But now, 
my aunt is coming back, and it will all begin over 
again. I won’t have you two any more, and she 
will always be here, talking, talking, talking, and 
I’ll have no way of answering her, for I don’t 
know!” 


CHAPTER VIII 
THE OLD DESK’S SECRET 

Mary Jane’s outburst dismayed Kathleen 
and Frances more than they liked to show. It 
seemed to bring the domineering aunt very near. 
Mrs. Mortimer was real again, in spite of the way 
they had successfully ignored the thought of her 
for many happy days. Frances, with her passion 
for direct action, spoke impetuously. 

“We’ll have to do something about it, Mary 
Jane, that’s all!” she declared. “After all, 
mysteries can be solved, if you’re clever enough. 
We may not be very clever, but we can make up 
for it by trying hard, and by never giving up 
until we succeed. You can know, and you shall! 
I’m going to find out who you are, and who your 
parents were, and what this mystery is all about. 
I am, if it takes the rest of my life!” 

Mary Jane’s smile was misty. “Bless you, 
Francie, I know you would if you could. But 
it’s all so hopeless.” 

“Nothing’s hopeless,” Frances answered firmly. 
“Wait and see! I’m going to do it, I tell you! 
Now listen. What we need, first of all, is a clue. 


83 


84 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Something to start with. Think hard, both of 
you. What could it be?” 

Obediently the other two wrinkled their brows 
in silence for a minute. Then Kathleen ventured 
a suggestion. 

“Mightn’t there be a document of some sort? 
Old letters, or—or Mary Jane’s birth certificate, 
or something like that?” 

Frances brightened at once. “Good for you, 
Sis! How about it, Mary Jane? Suppose we 
burglarize your uncle’s desk. It’s in the library 
downstairs, isn’t it? Don’t look so scandalized, 
Kathie. Who minds a little prying in a good 
cause? I’m sure I don’t.” 

“I don’t either, in this cause,” Mary Jane ad¬ 
mitted. “But it’s no use. I’ve dusted and 
straightened that desk lots of times, and there’s 
nothing in it that I haven’t seen. Nothing that 
would be of any help. He might have something 
at his office, but I don’t know.” 

“Um, that’s no good, then. Well, we’ll just 
have to think of something else. If he lets you 
dust his desk there are no secrets in it. That’s 
certain! Oh, by the way, is the bag of jewels still 
in the drawer?” 

“Jewels? Oh, you mean the ones I saw that 
night? No, they aren’t in his desk now. I don’t 
know what he did with them. Maybe the Man 



THE OLD DESK’S SECRET 85 


with the Beard came back later and bought the 
rest of them. But I never heard anything about 
it. It wasn’t the library desk he kept them in, 
though, it was an old rolltop one, much too shabby 
for this house. I expect it’s here in the attic 
somewhere. My aunt never can bear to throw 
anything away, even when it’s worn out.” 

“But there’s our clue!” Frances exclaimed. 
“The old desk he had when you were a baby! 
Why, that would be the very likeliest place to 
look for papers about you. Are you sure it’s up 
here? Let’s look it over. Come on, Kathleen, 
and help.” 

But Kathleen sat still on the old velvet sofa. 
“There’s nothing in that, Kitten. If Mr. 
Mortimer doesn’t want Mary Jane to know 
about herself, he certainly wouldn’t leave any im¬ 
portant papers around in the attic where she 
sleeps. That would be silly.” 

“Oh, you don’t know!” Frances answered im¬ 
patiently. “He’d never expect her to look for 
them. Besides, they could be in a locked drawer. 
Or a secret one. That’s the way it happens in 
stories! Anyway, it can’t do any harm to look. 
We’ve got to start somewhere, and it might as 
well be there.” 

“All right, honey.” Kathleen stood up. “Come 
on, Mary Jane, show us. Where is the desk?” 


86 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“I don’t really know.” Their hostess led the 
way, out of the cleared space she called her room, 
and into the jungle of trunks and old furniture. 
“I’m sure it was brought up here when we moved 
into this house, but I don’t remember seeing it 
since. It must be behind some of these packing 
cases. They’re very, very dusty,” she warned. 

They were indeed! The single electric bulb 
only lighted this part of the attic dimly, and the 
three girls were grimy and disheveled, and very 
red and breathless from tugging aside the heavy 
boxes, before their search was rewarded. 

The desk, which had been a handsome one of 
old-fashioned mahogany, looked shabby and for¬ 
lorn when they finally unearthed it behind a 
tangle of broken chairs and straw-filled barrels. 
They pushed enough of these out of the way to 
get at the drawers, and it was with a thrill of 
excitement that the older girls watched Frances 
pull out the top one. 

“Of all things on earth—curtains!” she ex¬ 
claimed in disgust, as her eyes fell upon a mass 
of crumpled lace. 

Mary Jane was peering over her shoulder. 
“They’re the ones we had in the last New York 
apartment. None of them would fit the windows 
here.” 

There were three deep drawers, extending to 



THE OLD DESK S SECRET 87 


the floor. Frances searched them rapidly, her 
spirits sinking lower every minute. The drawers 
were stuffed to the bursting point with lace cur¬ 
tains—and nothing else. 

“Well, that’s that,” she sighed at last. “Now 
for the pigeon holes, and the little drawers on 
top.” 

These yielded a few rubber bands, a rusty pen 
point, a half dozen paper clips, and a circular 
advertising the Harvard Classics. Also a great 
deal of dust, but nothing else. 

Frances looked at her sister and smiled rue¬ 
fully. “Go on, say it, ‘I told you so.’ ” 

“I wasn’t going to say it, dear. I’m as dis¬ 
appointed as you are. I was afraid to believe 
it, but I did hope that we might find something, 
even if it were only a scrap of paper. How about 
your secret drawer? Are there any signs of one?” 

“I can’t see any. Help me look, both of you. 
Maybe I’ve missed something.” 

The desk was without carving of any kind. 
There were no knobs to press, nor were there any 
traces of hidden springs. The girls pulled the 
larger drawers out again, and carefully went 
through them. Mary Jane said very little, but 
the mingled hope and despair on her sensitive 
face showed what the search meant to her. As 
Kathleen had said, it did not seem probable that 


88 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

her uncle would leave anything of importance in 
this unguarded desk, but she could not help 
hoping. Her disappointment was very real as 
the second search proved as fruitless as the first. 
She looked as though she might cry. 

In her thoroughness, Frances had removed all 
the curtains this time. She was stuffing them 
back without much regard for orderliness and 
consequently, filled the bottom drawer too full. 
When she tried to close it, it stuck and resisted 
her efforts. She pushed hard, but she could not 
make it go in. 

“Oh, bother!” she exclaimed, and gave an im¬ 
patient jerk forward. The whole drawer tumbled 
out, cracking her painfully on the shins. “You 
would do that!” she addressed it bitterly, bend¬ 
ing to remove some of the curtains. 

Even with its lessened load, the obstinate 
drawer still refused to slide all the way back into 
its groove. 

“Here, let me try,” her sister offered. Frances 
moved aside. Kathleen pushed with all her 
strength, but still it did not close. 

“There’s something back there,” Kathleen said. 
“We’ll have to take the drawer out again and see 
what it is.” 

“Oh, don’t bother,” Mary Jane interposed. 
“It doesn’t matter whether the drawer is closed 


THE OLD DESK’S SECRET 89 

or not. Oh! You don’t think it might be—what¬ 
ever we’re looking for?” 

“The Clue?” Frances repeated Mary Jane’s 
unspoken question solemnly. “Of course it might 
be. The question is, is it?” 

Kathleen, saying nothing, had taken the drawer 
out again, and now Frances was on her knees, 
with her arm plunged far back into the dusty 
tunnel. 

“Got it!” she announced. “It must have been 
jammed flat against the back, and when the 
drawer came out the first time it fell in a thick 
wad. It’s—I think it’s—” 

She drew something out and held it up to the 
dim light. Mary Jane looked at it carefully. 

“Oh, it is! It’s the jewel bag!” 




CHAPTER IX 
AN ANGEL LADY 

It was dingy and dusty, and disappointingly 
flat, but it was a tobacco pouch. And Frances 
was not to be discouraged. Her search had 
yielded something, anyway, and who could tell 
but that it might prove to be the clue they needed 
so badly? 

She fumbled impatiently with the drawstring 
which secured the bag at the top. “It’s in a 
knot, Sis. Here, you try it. I’m all thumbs.” 

“I’ll have to have some light.” Kathleen car¬ 
ried the bag over to Mary Jane’s bed and perched 
upon it, as Mary Jane and Frances watched, one 
on either side of her. 

The knots were stubborn. While Kathleen 
struggled with them, Frances pinched the flabby 
sides. “There’s something in it!” she cried, her 
voice almost trembling with excitement. “But 
not jewels, Mary Jane, it’s flat and hard. Do 
you remember anything like that?” 

“No, I don’t. My uncle just dumped every¬ 
thing out at once, you know, and I couldn’t see 

90 


91 


AN ANGEL LADY 

very plainly. This may not even be the same 
bag, though it does look like it.” 

Of course it’s the bag!” Frances insisted. 

Oh, get the scissors, Sis! Those knots are never 
coming loose, and this suspense is terrible.” 

With her embroidery scissors, Kathleen 
snipped off the knots. She picked up the bag 
and turned it over, shaking its contents onto the 
white counterpane. 

A single object lay revealed. It was a small 
flat leather case with broken hinges, and it looked 
as though it had been scratched and cut with a 
sharp knife. As Kathleen opened it, the girls 
saw that shreds of faded blue satin clung to one 
of the inner sides. But the other side contained 
the surprise! 

“Why, it’s a miniature!” Frances exclaimed. 
“And isn’t she sweet! But look! What have they 
done to her?” 

It was a tiny head-and-shoulders portrait, 
painted on ivory. Above a cloud of misty white 
tulle, a young woman’s face, crowned with high- 
piled golden hair, smiled out at them. It had 
been a lovely picture, but now it was deeply 
scarred and scratched, and the golden prongs 
which held its frame in place were twisted and 
broken. 

“The frame must have been set with precious 


92 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

stones,” Kathleen surmised. “Someone has 
pried them out with a knife, someone who didn t 
care in the least what he did to the poor lady. 
Every time the knife slipped, it plowed right 
across her face. What a shame!” 

“This was the jewel bag then!” Frances in¬ 
terrupted. “It’s perfectly plain. Mr. Mortimer 
sold them all, even the stones from this frame. 
And when he’d ruined the picture, he wouldn’t 
care about that! He just stuck it back in the bag 
and left it here. But maybe, maybe this poor 
scratched picture is going to help us more than 
the jewels themselves would have done. Maybe 
it’s the clue!” 

Kathleen shook her head. “What we’re look¬ 
ing for is a clue to Mary Jane’s family, honey. 
How could Mr. Mortimer’s jewels help us to 
do that?” 

“Well—well— Maybe they aren’t Mr. Morti¬ 
mer’s jewels! Maybe they really belonged to 
Mary Jane, and he took them and sold them and 
kept the money for himself. It would be just like 
him!” 

“Dear, this isn’t a moving picture, or a story in 
a book,” Kathleen said gently. “That sort of 
thing doesn’t happen in real life, you know. 
We’re trying to get at the truth, and wild, ro- 



93 


AN ANGEL LADY 

mantic guesses aren’t going to help. If we could 
only uncover some facts!” 

4 ‘Oh, factsr Frances turned in disgust to Mary 
Jane. She was studying the miniature earnestly, 
deaf to all that went on about her. She looked 
up as Frances put an arm about her shoulder. 

“Isn’t she beautiful? See, she’s smiling right 
at us—or would be, if that cruel scratch weren’t 
across her lips. It’s a sunny, happy face, don’t 
you think? As if she loved the whole world, and 
was perfectly sure that the whole world loved 
her back. I do wonder who she was?” 

“And there goes my last hope!” Frances ex¬ 
claimed. “I thought you might at least have seen 
her some time, Mary Jane. Are you sure you 
don’t recognize her?” 

Mary Jane sighed. “Quite sure. I should have 
remembered if I’d ever seen a face like that, all 
sweetness and heavenly kindness. She looks more 
an angel than any human woman I’ve ever 
seen.” 

“She does, doesn’t she?” Frances took the por¬ 
trait from Mary Jane’s hand and studied it 
again. “It’s the white gown and all that golden 
hair like an aureole around her face I guess. But 
even without anything, it’s an angelic face. I 
wonder—” 




94 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“What is the meaning of thisV’ 

The interruption was so sudden and so sharp 
that the three girls sprang to their feet, trembling 
as though they had been caught in a crime. 
Mary Jane’s aunt had returned. 

She was a stout, redfaced woman, with coarse 
black hair and an illtempered mouth. Behind 
her stood her husband. Both were in traveling 
clothes, and Mrs. Mortimer had not even re¬ 
moved her hat. 

She advanced into the room, puffing a little 
from the exertion of climbing the stairs to Mary 
Jane’s room. Frances, stealing a glance at Mary 
Jane, saw that she was shaking with nervousness. 
It was with difficulty that Mary Jane managed to 
say, “How do you do, aunt. I didn t expect you 
until the night train.” 

“I can see that,” Mrs. Mortimer answered 
grimly. “And about time I did get here, I must 
say! I find that good-for-nothing cook in the 
kitchen in a rocking chair, idling away the after¬ 
noon with a magazine! And she has the im¬ 
pudence to tell me that you are ‘entertaining 
the young ladies’ in your room! I’d like to know 
who gave you leave to ‘entertain’ in my house? 
Who do you think you are, anyway? And who 
is this riffraff you’ve sneaked in behind my back?” 

Mary Jane’s face was scarlet, but she answered 


95 


AN ANGEL LADY 

bravely,“These are my friends, Kathleen and 
Frances Forrester, aunt. They live next door.” 

Mrs. Mortimer’s withering gaze swept the 
sisters, and then her harsh voice went on. 

“Indeed! And since when have you been al¬ 
lowed to take up with the neighbors’ kids? Don’t 
you know any better? Haven’t I told you time 
and again I wouldn’t have you running the 
streets, wasting your time? Haven’t you any 
work to do, then? ‘Friends!’ ” 

She turned to her husband. “Did you ever 
hear of such a thing? Taking up with common 
trash from the village, the minute my back is 
turned. See, it’s just like I’ve always said. 
There’s not a grain of gratitude in the girl. 
She’s a lazy, lying, selfish hussy, like her mother 
before her!” 

Mr. Mortimer twirled his little moustache and 
glared at poor Mary Jane. “I quite agree with 
you, my dear,” he answered smoothly. 

“He’d better!” Frances whispered to herself. 
It was quite plain who really ruled the Mortimer 
household. 

Mrs. Mortimer turned to Mary Jane again, 
and a long tirade began. Kathleen caught the 
agonized plea in Mary Jane’s eyes, and she 
pinched her sister. “Let’s go,” she whispered. 
“We’re only making it worse for Mary Jane, 


96 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 
and dear auntie’s likely to throw us out bodily if 
we stay much longer.” 

As unobstrusively as possible, they moved 
toward the door, and the Mortimers paid no 
attention to them. As soon as they were down 
the attic stairs, both girls ran as fast as they 
could. 

Safe on their own grounds, they stopped to 
look at each other. They were furious, on their 
own account and Mary Jane s, but the encounter 
had had its humorous side. 

“Riffraff!” Kathleen gasped. 

“Common village trash!” Frances retorted. 

They sank down on to the veranda steps, their 
arms around each other’s shoulders, and rocked 
with helpless laughter. 

“It isn’t funny for Mary Jane, though,” 
Kathleen said presently, as she dried her eyes. 
“The poor child! She told us how it would be, 
but I simply couldn’t believe her. I didn’t think 
anyone could be like that, except a witch in a 
fairy tale.” 

“Or a dragon! If we hadn’t run we’d have been 
covered with fiery lava by now. I could feel it 
coming on under that baleful glare. Oh, Kathie, 
look what I’ve got! I had the Angel Lady in 
my hand when Mrs. Mortimer came in and 
startled us, and I’ve carried her off.” 


97 


AN ANGEL LADY 

She opened her hand to show the little leather 
case. “I didn’t mean to, Mrs. Mortimer drove 
everything out of my head when she started to 
scold Mary Jane. Ought I to take it right back?” 

“You wouldn’t stick your head into the lion’s 
den again, I hope! Can’t you ever learn your 
place—riffraff? Take care of it for Mary Jane, 
honey, till you find a chance to give it to her. 
She liked it, and it may really be hers. Anyway, 
they don’t want it, and they certainly haven’t 
any right to pictures of Angel Ladies.” 

“I quite agree with you, my dear,” Frances 
answered solemnly. 



CHAPTER X 
MR. MAZAROFF LISTENS 

A week went by, and nothing happened. 
From the house next door the sound of Mrs. 
Mortimer’s voice came frequently, always scold¬ 
ing and demanding. Once or twice Frances 
glimpsed Mary Jane’s pale face peering wist¬ 
fully from a window. A hurried wave of the 
hand was all the two friends dared to offer on 
these occasions. No new servants had appeared, 
and the sisters could guess that the girl s time 
was fully occupied. 

At first Kathleen and Frances had had count¬ 
less plans for seeing Mary Jane again. They 
had felt certain that an opportunity would arise 
the first time Mrs. Mortimer was away from 
the house. 

To their surprise, however, they found that 
“the unspeakable aunt,” as Frances called her, 
seemed to have given up her trips to the city. As 
far as they could tell, she never left the house. 
Mr. Mortimer, too, spent much of his time at 
home. They could often see him, as he lounged 
on his veranda, yawning over his newspapers. 


98 


MR. MAZAROFF LISTENS 99 

And the cruel, sly expression never left his gray¬ 
ish face. Occasionally he raised his voice in a 
sharp command to Mary Jane, who immediately 
appeared with a tall glass containing a cold 
drink. The big car, which had so impressed the 
other residents of Medhurst, stood idle in the 
garage. There were no more afternoon parties, 
and no callers. And not only Mary Jane, but 
also Delia and Mr. Mortimer seemed to be sub¬ 
jected to the sharp edge of Mrs. Mortimer’s 
tongue as the days went by. 

“What do you suppose has happened to the 
Mortimers?” Frances asked her sister one after¬ 
noon. 

The two girls were alone in the house except 
for Mr. Mazaroff, who was taking a nap in his 
room. It was Helga’s afternoon out, and Mother 
had gone into town to join Daddy for a matinee. 
The girls were in the kitchen, leisurely shelling 
peas for the dinner they had undertaken to pre¬ 
pare. 

“I can’t imagine,” Kathleen answered. “They 
surely can’t be staying home just to guard Mary 
Jane. They’d never give up their own pleasure 
for that. And I can’t see any other reason for it. 
I don’t believe that Mr. Mortimer even goes to 
his office these days. It’s beyond me!” 

“He sits out on his porch with a face like a 


100 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

thundercloud, too,” Frances contributed. “And 
Mrs. Mortimer rages all the time. I do feel so 
sorry for M^ary Jane. And for Delia, too. It 
can’t be much fun working for people like that. 
It’s funny that they’ve never hired any other 
servants since they came back from New York. 
I don’t see how poor crippled Delia can do all 
the work, even with Mary Jane to help her. 
Mrs. Mortimer is much too grand to lift a finger, 
of course. Why do you suppose she doesn’t hire 
some more help?” 

“I’m beyond supposing anything about that 
woman. Her actions are too hopelessly mysteri¬ 
ous. Oh, here’s Mr. Mazaroff!” 

The tall, gaunt Russian stood hesitating in 
the doorway. “I am sorry to disturb you, young 
ladies. I thought I might make myself a cup of 
tea. Helga is kind enough to allow it when she 
is here.” 

“Oh, let me do it, Mr. Mazaroff!” Frances got 
up quickly. “Please take this chair, and I’ll have 
it ready in a second. No, of course it isn’t any 
trouble! I love making tea, and Mother says 
I’m very good at it.” 

“Perhaps Mr. Mazaroff would rather have you 
bring it to him on the veranda, Francie,” Kath¬ 
leen interposed. “The kitchen—it’s hardly—” 

“Your kitchen is most pleasant,” their guest 



MR. MAZAROFF LISTENS 101 

answered, seating himself at the shining white 
table. “I have known far worse quarters.” 

The girls stared at him in amazement. It was 
the first time he had referred to his unhappy past 
in their presence. With her usual impetuosity, 
Frances grasped at the opening. 

“You must have had some exciting adventures, 
Mr. Mazaroff. Daddy said we weren’t to bother 
you with questions, but I’m dying of curiosity. 
Can’t you tell us some of the thrilling things that 

happened to you?” ; 

A shadow of pain fell upon the weary face. 
“I am afraid my experiences were hardly ‘thrill¬ 
ing’ in your sense of the word, Miss Frances. It 
is a grim, unhappy story which you would not 
enjoy hearing.” 

“Oh, I ’m sorry!” Frances said instantly. 

* 

“Please forgive me, Mr. Mazaroff. Kathie here 
will tell you I have no more tact than an ele¬ 
phant! I’m always putting my foot into things. 
Just forget that I spoke, won’t you?” 

“But indeed I am not offended, Miss Frances,” 
he said gently. “You have been most kind and 
gracious to a cantankerous invalid, and I fear I 
must have tried the patience of all of you.” 

“Oh, no!” and “Not a bit!” the girls answered 
in one breath. Frances brought him a cup of 
steaming fragrant tea and sat down to the peas 


102 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

again. There was an awkward little silence, and 
Kathleen cast about in her mind for a way to 
break it. 

“We were gossiping about our neighbors when 
you came in, Mr. Mazaroff,” she ventured pres¬ 
ently, “the people in the big house next door. 
We think they’re rather a mysterious family.” 

“That would be the family of the little girl 
who lunched with us one day? A sweet child, I 
thought, but strangely sad for one so young. 
And there is a mystery?” 

“Well, we don’t know that there is,” Kathleen 
answered, delighted that the conversational 
corner was safely turned. “Sometimes I think 
we’ve imagined too much. Mary Jane is an 
orphan, living with her uncle and aunt. They 
are not very kind to her, and they refuse to tell 
her anything about her parents. That doesn’t 
sound so terribly mysterious, does it? And it’s 
all that we really know.” 

“Oh, but it isn’t at all!” Frances contradicted. 
“There are all kinds of queer things about that 
family, Mr. Mazaroff! Why, there was the Man 
with the Beard, and the jewels, and Mrs. Morti¬ 
mer’s hints that Mary Jane’s parents were very 
wicked, and the way the Mortimers have stopped 
going out lately, and—and the Angel Lady! Oh, 
I can’t begin to tell you all the queer things! 



MR. MAZAROFF LISTENS 103 

And if a lot of queer things that people can’t— 
or won’t—explain, doesn’t mean some kind of a 
mystery, then what does?” 

“It sounds very odd indeed,” Boris Mazaroff 
agreed. “Perhaps you would like to tell me the 
story? Or would your little friend object?” 

“Oh, no, Mary Jane wouldn’t mind,” Frances 
answered quickly. “Only we don’t want to bother 
you. It’s a long story, and very, very sad.” 

“It will not bother me, I am sure. Please tell 
me.” 

This interest was prompted only by good man¬ 
ners, Frances was sure. Mr. Mazaroff couldn’t 
really care about Mary Jane’s pitiful little trou¬ 
bles, when he had so many of his own. But his 
attitude showed Frances that at least she had not 
offended him. Then, too, she was beginning to 
lose her awe of him, and to realize that behind 
his weary indifference there might be a kind, 
friendly personality. 

Eagerly she plunged into the story of Mary 
Jane Smith. She tried to be as fair as she could 
to the Mortimers, but her resentment at their 
treatment of her friend could not be hidden. Al¬ 
though Mr. Mazaroff had seen Mary Jane only 
at her happiest, his keen eyes had noted the signs 
of genuine unhappiness which were fully ac¬ 
counted for by the story Frances told him. 



104 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

She had described their search for the papers, 
and their failure to find anything which proved 
Mary Jane’s identity. 

“Has it occurred to you,” Mr. Mazaroff asked 
then, “that there must be a public record of 
your friend’s birth? I have always understood 
that the American health authorities are very 
strict on that point. Does she know the city of 
her birth?” 

“Yes, I think it’s New York,” Frances an¬ 
swered. “At least, she said that was the first 
place she could remember. Do you mean she 
could go to the City Hall, or wherever it is, in 
New York, and find out something about herself? 
We never thought of that.” 

“It should be possible. Probably a letter to 
the Health Commissioner there would bring her 
a copy of the record. Of course, this would con¬ 
tain only a very small amount of information. 
The date of birth, the parents’ names, their resi¬ 
dence at that time would be the extent of it.” 

“It isn’t very much, is it?” Frances said doubt¬ 
fully. “Mary Jane already knows her birth date, 
and that her parents were named Smith. Dis¬ 
covering where they had lived when she was 
born wouldn’t help much, unless she could go 
there and question the neighbors. I don’t suppose 
that would be any use, after all these years, and 


MR. MAZAROFF LISTENS 105 


anyway, she can’t do it. Her aunt would never 
let her. You see, Mr. Mazaroff,” Frances went 
on earnestly, “what Mary Jane really wants, 
more than anything in the world, is to know 
something definite about her parents. It’s this 
living under a dark cloud of doubt that she can’t 
endure. She feels that she could stand anything, 
no matter how bad it was, if she could only 
know!” 

“I can understand that,” Boris Mazaroff an¬ 
swered somberly. “Uncertainty can be, I think, 
a fiercer torture than the human soul was meant 
to bear. However, I have interrupted your story. 
You found nothing at all in your search of the 
desk?” 

“Well, almost nothing. When we had quite 
given up, we accidentally found a small leather 
pouch wedged between the drawers. While it 
is like the bag Mary Jane had seen with the 
jewels in it, she can’t be sure that it is the very 
same one. But I just know it is.” 

“It was empty, of course?” 

“Not quite. There was a little leather case in 
it which contained a picture. The frame must 
have been set with precious stones, we think, but 
someone had pried all of them out. Both the 
picture and the case were terribly scratched and 
battered, and the person who took the stones 


106 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

out probably didn’t think the rest of it worth 
bothering with. So he just stuck it back into the 
bag, poked it away in the drawer, and forgot all 
about it.” 

“And you think that this die’ was the uncle— 
Mortimer—is that the name?” 

“Yes. He’s just the sort of man who would 
ruin a lovely thing like that picture without car¬ 
ing a bit, as long as he got his greedy hands on 
the gems. He’s a horrid man, Mr. Mazaroff! 
Little and sly and mean looking, and completely 
under the thumb of his dreadful wife. And the 
picture—it’s the sweetest face, Mr. Mazaroff! 
It’s a lady, very young, and, as poor Mary Jane 
says, ‘with the face of an angel.’ Of course it’s 
simply ruined by those deep scratches, but— 
Wait! Shall I get it? It’s upstairs in my work- 
basket. I was looking at it just as Mrs. Mortimer 
found us that day, and she made such a scene 
that Sis and I just faded out as best we could. 
When we got home I found I’d carried off the 
picture. Shall I get it, Mr. Mazaroff?” 

“Oh, honey, I don’t think Mr. Mazaroff cares 
about seeing it,” Kathleen put in anxiously. 
“You’ve tired him enough as it is. He can’t 
want any more of your chatter today.” 

“But indeed I am interested, Miss Kathleen.” 
There was more than mere politeness in the Rus- 




MR. MAZAROFF LISTENS 107 

sian’s voice. “It is a touching story, that of your 
forlorn little friend. I fear that my own mis¬ 
fortunes have made me selfish. It is well I should 
be made to realize that one does not suffer alone 
in this cruel world, there are always others, more 
innocent, less deserving of Fate’s blows. Yet to 
them, too, must come the bitter cup of sorrow. 
What a world!” 

His voice was so sad and tired that the girls 
fidgeted uncomfortably. To them, wrapped 
round in love and security, the world was a 
bright, happy one. Yet to Mary Jane and to 
Mr. Mazaroff—Frances felt her throat tighten¬ 
ing, and her hand crept into Kathleen’s for com¬ 
fort. 

“We try to do what we can for everyone who 
is unhappy, Mr. Mazaroff,” came Kathleen’s 
quiet voice. “Often it isn’t much. But surely, 
if everybody tries, it will be a better world some 
day?” 

His gloomy face lightened. “I think it will, 
Miss Kathleen. It is your world now, the world 
of youth. You must do a better job with it than 
we older ones did. Perhaps—yes, we must be¬ 
lieve that you will. Especially if what you have 
just said is the creed of your generation, my dear. 
It is a very beautiful one!” 

Kathleen flushed. “I wasn’t trying to speak 




108 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

for my generation, Mr. Mazaroff. It’s just the 
way Francie and I feel about things. But I think 
most people feel that way. I know lots and lots 
of girls, and Mary Jane is the first one I’ve ever 
known who was actually mistreated at home. I 
can’t believe that there are many people like 
the Mortimers.” 

“Let us hope that, if there are, you never en¬ 
counter them, my dear.” His unexpected smile 
was very warm, and Kathleen wondered how 
she could ever have thought him aloof and in¬ 
different. “Oh, but he’s nice” she thought 
swiftly, “I’m never going to be afraid of him any 
more! 

“Well, there are two Mortimers, and that’s 
enough for me,” Frances brought the conversa¬ 
tion back to practical matters. “And by hook 
or crook, I’m going to get Mary Jane away from 
them or die trying. Do you want to see the pic¬ 
ture, Mr. Mazaroff? Maybe it’ll give you some 
idea that we haven’t thought of.” 

“By all means, Miss Frances. I should be 
happy to help, if I can.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll get it right now.” 


CHAPTER XI 
DELIA SPEAKS HER MIND 

Frances was halfway across the room on her 
way upstairs, when there was a terrific bang¬ 
ing upon the kitchen door. It was not locked, 
and before Mr. Mazaroff or the girls could move, 
the handle turned, and the door opened wide. 
They stared in amazement at a sturdy old figure 
in a plaid coat, her hat slightly askew, her gnarled 
hands clutching a bulging suitcase. 

“Delia! For heaven’s sake!” Kathleen was first 
to recover. “Do come in. Has something hap¬ 
pened to Mary Jane? Is anything wrong?” 

“Is anything right in that house?” The Irish¬ 
woman closed the door and sank into the chair 
Kathleen pushed forward. “No, there’s no harm 
come to the little one. At least, no more than 
always, poor darlin’. She’s givin’ her precious 
aunt a Sham Poo in the bathroom, and gettin’ 
her poor purty ears boxed most like for darin’ 
to splash soap into her leddyship’s eyes. And 
don’t I wish I had the chanst to Sham Poo her 
once. I’d fill her ugly mouth with the soap, that 
I would!” 


109 


110 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“Me too!” Frances agreed heartily. She had 
joined the others, her errand temporarily forgot¬ 
ten. 

Delia looked about, and her suspicious gaze 
questioned the silent Russian. 

“This is Mr. Mazaroff, our guest, Delia,” 
Kathleen said. “We’ve just been telling him all 
about Mary Jane, so if you have any message 
from her you needn’t mind his hearing.” 

“It’s no message. It’s just somethin’ I thought 
you ought to know, miss, you and your sister 
bein’ the only friends the little one has on earth. 
You may say it’s none of my business, and indeed 
it’s not, and never have I been one to carry tales 
of my employers, as anyone will tell you. But— 
I’m leavin’ that house, Miss Kathleen. I won’t 
be worryin’ you with my grievances, but it’s the 
truth that put up with that woman’s bossin’ any 
longer I couldn’t, and I was goin’ anyway if she 
hadn’t said the word first! I won’t try to hide 
from you that we had words this mornin’, when 
she come into me kitchen findin’ fault. ‘Then you 
can go,’ she says. And, ‘The sooner the better, 
ma’am,’ I says. And I’m on me way to the sta¬ 
tion now.” 

“Oh, Delia, I’m sorry!” Kathleen exclaimed. 
“Have you found another place?” 

“Sure and I have. There’s a lady in the city 



DELIA SPEAKS HER MIND 111 

where me sister is second gurrel that’s been at me 
to come to her for these many weeks. Don’t yon 
be vexin’ your kind heart over me, miss. It’s 
the little one I’m worryin’ over. Now that I’m 
gone, she’ll be left alone in that house with them 
two—hyenas! Yes, that’s the name for them. 
Hyenas they are, and it’s me that says it. The 
way they put upon that poor child, and her so 
patient and sweet and willin’—it fair makes me 
blood boil!” 

"We all agree with you, Delia,” Kathleen 
answered, with a straight face. "But you were 
going to tell us—” 

And tell you I will!” Delia’s indignation 
faded into solemnity. "Miss Kathleen, them 
Mortimers is dead broke. And what’s worse, he’s 
been spendin’ money that don’t belong to him. 
And what’s goin’ to be the end of it, heaven only 
knows!” 

"Why, Delia, you can’t mean that!” Frances 
exclaimed. Everybody knows Mr. Mortimer 
is the richest man in Medhurst.” 

"Everybody thinks so, you mean. What do 
they know about him? He comes out here, buys a 
big house, makes a big splash but it’s all a bluff! 
I misdoubt if he ever did have as much money as 
he looked to have. But anyhow, it’s gone now. 
That business of his, that stock-brokerin’ or what- 




112 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

ever you call it, is a mighty funny business, Miss 
Frances. Not like a store or a factory. It’s more 
of a gamblin’ business, the way he runs it. But 
of course it’s not my place to say anything about 
that, and maybe I don’t know the rights of it 
anyhow. But this I do know. That Mortimer 
has been what you call speculatin till he s lost 
every cent of his own. And thinkin to get it 
back, he’s been throwin’ good money after bad. 
And the good money, Miss Kathleen, was what 
his customers trusted him to buy stocks with for 
them!” 

“But Delia, that’s a serious thing to say!” 
Kathleen exclaimed. “Are you sure about it?” 

“I’m sure, all right, Miss Kathleen. I don’t 
know all the ins and outs of it, but that’s the way 
it is. And I didn’t listen at keyholes to find out, 
if that’s what you’re thinkin’. Ever since the two 
of ’em come back from that New York trip it’s all 
that’s been heard in the house. They don’t pay no 
attention to me, no more than if I was the kitchen 
stove, but I got ears and eyes. Up till yesterday 
he was still hopin’ to get somethin’ back, but he 
come home last night and told her the market 
had gone down again, and he was wiped out.” 

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Frances 
interrupted impatiently. “I’m not going to waste 
any sympathy on Mr. Mortimer. I hope he 
starves!” 


DELIA SPEAKS HER MIND 113 


“Hush, Kitten,” Kathleen laid a hand on her 
arm. “Go on, Delia. You didn’t come just to 
tell us this. You think because the Mortimers 
have lost their money it will make a difference to 
Mary Jane?” 

“I’ll tell you what I think, miss.” Delia 
looked about cautiously and lowered her voice. 
“They took care of her while they was rich be¬ 
cause the madam liked to have somebody to 
order around. They wasn’t any love in it, I’ll 
answer for that. Well, now, he’s in a purty bad 
fix over this money he took. It’ll mean prison if 
he can’t put it back. And how can he when he 
ain’t got it? They’re fixin’ to skip before they’re 
found out, that’s what! Last night when I served 
dinner they was talkin’ about Canada. They 
stopped every time I come in the room, but I 
heard the word over and over. And after dinner 
they was in the library with their heads together 
over automobile maps. I know! They’re plannin’ 
to get out of the country before his customers find 
out he’s robbed ’em, the crook! And this is what 
I’m gettin’ at. They’ve no decent affection for 
Mary Jane. She’d be a nuisance and a bother 
on a trip like that, maybe give ’em away without 
meanin’ to. Do you think they’re goin’ to burden 
their selves with her? I don’t!” 

“You think that they are planning to abandon 
the child?” It was Boris Mazaroff’s quiet voice. 


114 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“That’s what I’m afraid of, sir. Like I’ve seen 
families do with a cat or a dog when they got 
ready to move, and didn’t want to be bothered 
with the animal any more. Them Mortimers has 
no more feelin’ for their own flesh and blood than 
if she was a cat, and they’d go off and leave her 
to starve just as gay as you please if the notion 
took ’em. And what’ll become of poor little 
Mary Jane then?” 

“Why, she’ll come here, of course!” Frances 
exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad you told us, Delia! 
If the Mortimers do run away and leave her, 
she can come right over and live with us. How 
perfectly lovely! Do you think they’ll go soon? 
It’ll be the very nicest thing that could happen. 
Don’t worry about her a bit, Delia. She’ll have 
a perfectly good home at our house.” 

“Sure and that’s mighty sweet of you, Miss 
Francie,” Delia said warmly. “And lucky the 
little one is to have such a friend. But it’ll bear 
thinkin’ over.” She shook her head doubtfully. 
“Your father and mother are kind people, I 
know, but a half-grown girl is different from a 
stray kitten, dearie. I misdoubt they’ll want the 
responsibility, to say nothin’ of the expense.” 

“Why, of course they’ll want her!” Frances 
began indignantly, but then stopped at a warn¬ 
ing glance from Kathleen. 


DELIA SPEAKS HER MIND 115 


After all, the girls knew that they had no 
right to assume that their parents would consent 
to such an undertaking. 

As though he had noticed nothing, Boris 
Mazaroff spoke. “You need not worry about the 
young girl, Mrs. Delia. If her relatives do 
abandon her, as you suspect they are planning 
to do, I’ll make myself responsible for her wel¬ 
fare.” 

“You! But Mr. Mazaroff—” Kathleen stam¬ 
mered so badly that she could not go on. 

“Your father has many responsibilities, Miss 
Kathleen,” the quiet voice continued. “I have 
none. I am a lonely man, with no living creature 
to claim my protection. It will give me pleasure 
to provide for your little friend, should the need 
arise.” 

“Well, heaven bless you for a noblehearted 
gentleman!” Delia exclaimed. “And me thinkin’ 
up to now that the Rooshians was no better than 
cannibals! It’s a load off me mind, sir, and I 
won’t deny it. And now— Glory be, will you 
look at the clock!” She rose hastily and began 
buttoning her coat. 

“Did the Mortimers say when they were go¬ 
ing, Delia?” Frances asked. 

“Never a word. I think meself it’s a matter 
of raisin’ all the money they can first. He took 



116 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

the silver plate away with him this mornin’, and 
a man called from town to say he’d be out to¬ 
morrow to look at the Oriental rugs. The house 
is mortgaged for more than it’s worth, but my 
guess is they’ll turn the best of the furniture 
into cash, though by rights it ought to go to the 
poor souls he robbed. Well, thank you again, 
sir, and you too, young ladies. Sure, it’s a 
lighter heart I’m takin’ away than I brought 
with me.” 

As the door closed behind her, they heard 
Daddy’s key turn in the lock. The girls rushed 
into the front hall, followed more slowly by Mr. 
Mazaroff. 

“Oh, Daddy, Mums, listen!” Frances began 
breathlessly. “We’re late with dinner, but you 
won’t mind just this once. The most amazing 
thing has happened. Mr. Mazaroff is going to 
adopt Mary Jane!” 


CHAPTER XII 
CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD 

Mary Jane and her impossible relatives were 
the chief topic of conversation at the Forrester 
dinner table that evening. Delia’s story was 
repeated in every detail, and her fears for the 
girl’s welfare were discussed. Kathleen and 
Frances had already told their mother all that 
they knew of Mary Jane’s unhappy life, but 
most of it was new to Daddy, who had been ab¬ 
sorbed in his business affairs. He listened with 
mingled indignation and amusement to the “riff¬ 
raff” story, which Frances illustrated as she 
told it with a perfect imitation of Mrs. Morti¬ 
mer’s tones and gestures. 

Mr. Forrester was not inclined to take Delia’s 
fears very seriously. “Abandoning a minor child 
is quite a grave offense in the eyes of the law, 
he observed. “I can’t say that what you tell me 
has prejudiced me in Mortimer’s favor, but it 
hardly seems possible that he would do a thing 
like that.” 

“But Daddy, speculating with other people’s 
money is a grave offense too,” Frances pointed 

117 


118 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

out. “And Mr. Mortimer did do that, Delia 
says. It seems to me if he’s enough of a criminal 
to do the one thing, he wouldn’t stop at the 
other. Especially when you think of the way 
they’ve always treated poor Mary Jane!” 

“Do you think we ought to do anything, 
Hugh?” Mrs. Forrester asked anxiously. “I 
mean, speak to the police, although it’s a hor¬ 
rid thing to do? After all, they are our neigh¬ 
bors, even if we don’t like them. But if Mr. 
Mortimer has broken the law, and is planning 
to run away—do you think it’s our duty to 
tell?” 

Mr. Forrester shook his head. “We couldn’t 
do that, dear. We haven’t any basis for our be¬ 
liefs other than the gossip of a dismissed servant. 
No officer would make an arrest on that. And 
if he did, and it developed that Delia had mis¬ 
understood the situation, it would be very awk¬ 
ward for us. Oh, I know you believe her, and 
so do I, at least about the embezzlement. But 
we can’t prove anything. If Mortimer has swin¬ 
dled his clients, it’s their responsibility to see 
that he is arrested, not ours. Besides, I’m not 
much concerned about that phase of the gentle¬ 
man’s activities. It’s the fate of that unfortunate 
child we’re interested in, isn’t it?” 

“Well, for my part, I hope Delia was right,” 



CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD 119 

Frances spoke up. “The best thing that could 
happen to Mary Jane would be for the Mor¬ 
timers to leave her behind, and never, never show 
their hateful faces in Medhurst again. I only 
hope they do it, and quickly, too!” 

“That is also my hope.” Boris Mazaroff en¬ 
tered the discussion for the first time. 

At the quiet words Mr. Forrester put down 
his coffee cup and turned to his friend. “Boris, 
you’re not taking this mad scheme of the chil¬ 
dren’s seriously? I understand that they stam¬ 
peded you into offering to look after this waif, if 
she should be deserted. It was very kind of you 
to quiet their fears in that way, but of course 
they must realize that it is utterly impossible.” 

Frances’ eyes turned from her father’s face 
to Mr. Mazaroff’s. But surely, surely he had 
meant what he said this afternoon! He hadn’t 
been just making an empty promise to keep 
them from worrying? He’d seemed so noble 
when he had promised to take care of Mary Jane. 
“Knightly”—that was the word which had 
popped into Frances’ head. But to make a 
promise without meaning to keep it wasn’t 
knightly. That was just downright mean! 
Frances clenched her hands at her sides. Had 
she been mistaken about Mr. Mazaroff? 

“It was not the young ladies’ suggestion, it 



120 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


was my own.” The words came slowly, and 
Frances listened intently to every one of them. 
“Would you mind telling me why you consider 
it impossible?” 

“But you must see that for yourself, Boris,” 
Mr. Forrester answered. “This child is nothing 
to you, has no claim on you whatsoever. She is 
only—how old is it, girls? Fourteen? That 
means years of clothing and feeding and educat¬ 
ing her until she can be self-sustaining. Why in 
the world should you assume such a burden?” 

“You are paying me a generous salary, Mr. 
Forrester. You have been kind enough to pre¬ 
dict for me a prosperous future in the engineer¬ 
ing profession. Do you not feel that I am finan¬ 
cially able to assume the support of this or¬ 
phan?” 

“Able? Of course you are. That isn’t the 
point. You know nothing whatever about the 
girl. I’m going to hurt the children’s feelings 
here, I’m afraid, but it can’t be helped. Their 
friend seems a sweet little thing, but she comes 
of bad stock. We have good reason to believe 
that the uncle is a thief. We know that the aunt 
is a bad tempered shrew. The girl, herself, 
doesn’t know who her parents were, and there’s 
a strong possibility, if Mrs. Mortimer’s insinua¬ 
tions have any truth in them, that they were 



CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD 121 

criminals. Surely you’ll admit that it would be 
taking a fearful risk to adopt Mary Jane in the 
face of these facts?” 

The faint smile, which Frances had seen for 
the first time this afternoon, again flickered over 
Boris Mazaroff’s thin face. 

“When you took me, Mr. Forrester, a 
wretched, starving exile, and gave me a posi¬ 
tion of authority, did you think of the risk? Did 
you ask of what stock I came? Did you know, 
or care, whether or not my uncles were thieves?” 

“Oh, but that was different. You were a 
grown man, and—” 

“Pardon, my friend. It was not different. In 
the hour of my desperate need you extended a 
helping hand, generously and without question. 
You preach caution now, but you must forgive 
me if I follow your practices rather than your 
preaching. In the case of this needy child, I pro¬ 
pose to do, not as you say but as you did. Your 
generous heart must approve, even though your 
head may not.” 

Frances was not quite sure she understood. 
Did Mr. Mazaroff mean that he was going to 
keep his promise—or didn’t he? She had always 
admired the dignity and formality of his speech, 
but today she wished impatiently that he would 
come to the point immediately. She was infi- 



122 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

nitely relieved when the earnest expression on 
her father’s face relaxed into a smile. 

“Well, I had to put it before you the way it 
would look to the rest of the world,” Daddy 
laughed. “I expect I’ve lost my daughters’ re¬ 
gard forever by doing it, too. Cheer up, Francie. 
I never for one minute thought that your young 
friend would turn out a second edition of her 
aunt. As a matter of fact, Boris, what I’ve seen 
of the youngster has impressed me favorably. 
She’s a shy little thing, but if I’m not mistaken 
there’s a wealth of character behind those sol¬ 
emn eyes. And I don’t think the girls would 
have been attracted to her as they have if she 
hadn’t been worth while. If you’re really de¬ 
termined to go through with it I shan’t put a 
straw in your way. There, Francie, does that 
make us friends again?” 

She slipped a hand into his. “I was scared 
at first, but then I remembered that you just 
couldn’t be like that,” she said happily. “You 
were only saying what other people might say, 
to make sure Mr. Mazaroff realized what he was 
doing. And it didn’t make a bit of difference to 
him!” She turned beaming eyes on the white- 
haired Russian. 

“Well, I must say I’m relieved too,” Mrs. For- 


CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD 123 

rester observed. “Of course one has to be prac¬ 
tical, but really, all that talk about criminal 
heredity is just ridiculous, when you apply it 
to Mary Jane Smith. I ought to know some¬ 
thing about girls, and you can be quite sure, 
Mr. Mazaroff, that if you do adopt her, you’ll 
find her as ideal a little daughter as—well, as my 
two are. And I can’t say more than that!” 

“Indeed you cannot,” Mr. Mazaroff answered, 
with a friendly glance toward the two sisters. 
“And now that I have won approval for my 
plan,” he continued, “I confess that I am rather 
impatient to get on with it. Is there nothing 
to do but to wait for the aunt and uncle to de¬ 
sert the child?” 

“Not a thing,” Mr. Forrester said. “We can’t 
go to Mortimer and say ‘Look here, old man, we 
understand you’ve been embezzling and are about 
to skip the country. We’ll be glad to take your 
niece off your hands.’ That wouldn’t do at all.” 

“And we don’t even know that he’s going!” 
Frances mourned. “Wouldn’t it be terrible if 
Delia had been mistaken, and he wasn’t a thief 
at all!” 

Mrs. Forrester laughed. “Shocking as your 
sentiment is, darling, I’m afraid I agree with it. 
I shall be quite disappointed if Mr. Mortimer 



124 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

turns out to be an honest man, with no intention 
of leaving the country or Mary Jane. Did 
Delia seem positive about it?” 

“Oh, she did, Mums,” Kathleen assured her. 
“You know how loudly Mrs. Mortimer talks, 
and she’s one of those people who don’t believe 
that servants are really human beings. Ever 
since they came back from New York, Mr. and 
Mrs. Mortimer have been discussing their af¬ 
fairs, and Delia isn’t a bit stupid about putting 
two and two together. She heard all about his 
speculating and losing his own money, and then 
trying to win it back by using other people’s. 
And last night he told his wife that his last hope 
was gone, and that he was wiped out. They 
talked about Canada, and studied maps—oh, it 
can’t mean anything else. They must be plan¬ 
ning to run away. Don’t you think so, Daddy?” 

“Looks like it,” Mr. Forrester agreed. “Well, 
there’s not a thing we can do but wait. Keep 
an eye on their house, girls. The minute you 
see signs of departure, we’ll make ready to re¬ 
ceive your young friend. Pity you can’t get 
word to her. She must be rather sick with worry, 
if she realizes what’s going on.” 

“I don’t see how we can. Her aunt will be sure 
to keep her busy every minute, now that Delia’s 
gone,” Kathleen said regretfully. “But we’ll 



CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD 125 

try to think of a way. And we’ll make it all up 
to her afterwards, won’t we, Francie?” 

Frances did not hear her, for she was busy 
helping Mr. Mazaroff up from the table. Eagerly 
she brought him the stick with which he walked 
to keep his weight off his lame knee. Hero wor¬ 
ship shone in her eyes. Her knight had not failed 
her, and she reproached herself now for the mo¬ 
ment’s doubt. Never, never would she doubt 
him again! 


CHAPTER XIII 
WAITING 

With all their wonderful plans for Mary Jane 
ready to be put into effect, the Forrester sisters 
found it most provoking that life seemed to go 
on as usual next door. Through the open win¬ 
dows they could hear Mrs. Mortimer’s usual 
faultfinding all day long, and far into the night 
the rumble of the uncle’s voice came across the 
lawn to them. The houses were not close enough 
for words to be distinguished, even had the girls 
cared to play eavesdroppers, but both voices al¬ 
ways sounded angry. Mary Jane’s soft little 
contralto was pitched too low to be heard if 
she were involved in these discussions, but the 
sisters were fairly certain that her relatives were 
making her life even more disagreeable than 
usual. 

Kathleen and Frances had vainly tried to de¬ 
vise some way by which they could communicate 
with their friend. They were sure that Mary 
Jane’s aunt would never allow a telephone call 
or a letter to pass unquestioned. Mrs. Mortimer 
never left the house, nor was Mary Jane ever sent 

126 


WAITING 127 

out on errands. All marketing was done by tele¬ 
phone, apparently, and Frances seriously con¬ 
sidered the advisability of coaxing the grocer’s 
boy to let her slip a note into his basket. That 
seemed too risky a plan, however, and at last 
the girls settled down reluctantly to wait for the 
Mortimers to make the next move. 

To Frances’ deep disappointment, Mr. Maz- 
aroff seemed to have lost interest in the affair. 
The unexpected energy with which he had at¬ 
tacked Mary Jane’s problems did not last. As 
before, he spent long hours in his deck chair. 
Sometimes he read or dozed a bit, but usually, 
when the girls saw him, he was just lying there, 
with his sad eyes looking into space. He had no 
appetite for the delicious, strengthening dishes 
Helga prepared for him, and the country air 
had brought no color to his pale cheeks. The 
sisters could not help knowing that Daddy was 
beginning to worry about him. 

“I don’t like the way things are working 
at all,” they overheard him telling Mother one 
day. “He was so keen when I took him on, in 
China, that I let him use up the little bit of 
strength he had. Then that plunge in the river, 
and the fever which followed it, just about fin¬ 
ished him. I was sure all the time, though, that 
a good rest and nourishing food would put him 


128 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

right again. But now I don’t know. Seems to 
me he’s getting more listless and weak every 
day, instead of gaining strength as I had ex¬ 
pected.” 

“What does Dr. Hartley say?” 

“That’s the perplexing thing about it. Ex¬ 
cept for his lame knee, Dr. Hartley says he’s 
sound enough, merely nervous and undernour¬ 
ished. Doctor says it’s more a lack of will power 
than anything else. He doesn’t seem to want to 
get well, at least, not enough to make the effort.” 

“But surely, Hugh, when he knows you’re 
counting on him for the Mexican trip, he ought 
to try to recover his strength. For your sake, if 
for no other reason.” 

“Oh, he’s willing enough, poor fellow. You 
can see that he tries, but something inside of 
him seems to hold him back. I had quite a talk 
about it with the doctor. He’s on the staff at 
the Veterans’ Hospital, you know. He says it’s 
a common thing among ex-soldiers, this indif¬ 
ference that the men can’t overcome, no matter 
how hard they try. They’re not to blame for it 
either, it’s something that the War did to them. 
A kind of paralysis of the mind that’s just as 
real as a paralyzed spine, and just as hard to 
treat. ‘War neurosis,’ Dr. Hartley calls it, and 
poor Boris has a bad case.” 


WAITING 


129 


“Of course it wasn’t only the War with him,” 
Mother reminded him sympathetically. “There 
was the Revolution afterward. Yes, losing his 
friends, his home, everything, and having to flee 
for his life, I can see how he must have suffered 
enough to account for anything. But it seems 
such a pity. A fine, splendid man like that, with 
everything to live for!” 

“If he could just see it that way. But the 
poor chap has been through so much, suffered 
so much, that he’s given up struggling. Life has 
been so cruel to him that it doesn’t seem worth 
going on. It’s a pity, but there it is.” 

The conversation ended there, but it left the 
sisters very thoughtful. The idea that a grown 
man should not care enough about life to live 
it was a novel one, and they discussed it end¬ 
lessly in their talks together. How must it feel 
to feel like that? And, far more important, what 
could they do about it? For surely something 
could be—must be—done! 

“You know,” Frances said thoughtfully one 
afternoon, “I believe that Mr. Mazaroff needs 
Mary Jane even more than she needs him.” 

The sisters were drying their hair on the 
sunny back porch, and Kathleen shook her 
tousled brown mop out of her eyes to ask, 
“How do you figure that out?” 



130 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“Well, Daddy says Mr. Mazaroff’s whole 
trouble is that he doesn’t care about living. Now 
if he had the responsibility of an adopted daugh¬ 
ter, to earn a living for and look after, he’d have 
to care, wouldn’t he? I mean, he’d have to think, 
and plan, and get his mind off that old unhappy 
past of his. Whether he felt like it or not, he’d 
have to make an effort for her. And he would! 
The only interest I’ve ever seen him show in any¬ 
thing was when we told him her story. And 
later on, when he argued with Daddy about tak¬ 
ing her. He was alive , then! He sat up straight 
and his voice was strong. It was like a different 
man talking. I do honestly think, Sis, that Mary 
Jane is the very medicine he needs.” 

“Well, I certainly wish he could have her.” 
Kathleen stirred restlessly, and her eyes strayed 
to the windows of the Mortimer house. “A de¬ 
cently kind guardian would be good medicine 
for her, too, a sort she’s never had. Do you sup¬ 
pose those awful people are ever going away?” 

“Helga says there was a moving van at their 
door last night,” Frances said hopefully. “Very 
late, around two o’clock, she had gone down to 
the kitchen to fill her hot water bottle. She 
heard the motor going and looked out. She says 
some men came down the steps with a roll of 
rugs, and later with something that looked like 


WAITING 131 

the grand piano. She went back to bed then, and 
didn’t see any more.” 

“Well, that sounds encouraging. They’re 
getting rid of the furniture secretly, the more 
valuable pieces anyway. I suppose if the peo¬ 
ple he robbed discover their loss they could 
claim the furniture. It does look as if the Mor¬ 
timers meant to go quietly away very soon, 
doesn’t it?” 

“Oh, they’re going, all right,” Frances an¬ 
swered gloomily. “The only thing that worries 
me is whether they will take Mary Jane with 
them. It’s only Delia’s notion that they mean 
to leave her behind. After all, Mrs. Mortimer 
finds her very useful. She’ll never get another 
servant to do so much with so little pay. Why 
should we count on their leaving her here?” 

“Now, Kitten, don’t borrow trouble!” Kath¬ 
leen laughed with a confidence she was far from 
feeling. “Haven’t we figured it all out? All that 
we need is a little patience. One of these fine 
days the Mortimers will step into their car and 
drive away, leaving Mary Jane to get along by 
herself. And we’ll go right over and bring her 
home, and she’ll be just like our own sister. 
Mums says that, of course, Mr. Mazaroff will 
arrange for her to stay with us when he goes 
south with Daddy—pay her expenses here, I 


132 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

mean. Won’t that be wonderful? All her trou¬ 
bles will be over, and Mr. Mazaroff’s too, if your 
idea of ‘good medicine’ is the right one. There, 
isn’t that a rosy picture? Just think of the fun 
we’ll have taking Mary Jane shopping, and help¬ 
ing her pick out her very own clothes, for the 
first time in her life!” 

“Bless you, Sis, you do see the bright side!” 
Frances summoned a smile. “If I could only 
think it would all come true! Oh, well, I sup¬ 
pose there’s nothing to do but wait and worry. 
But I tell you, if something doesn’t happen very 
soon, you needn’t be surprised if my hair turns 
as white as Mr. Mazaroff’s.” 


CHAPTER XIV 
THE BLOW FALLS 

It happened most unexpectedly that very eve¬ 
ning. 

The day had been stiflingly hot, and dusk 
brought a hint of thunder in the air. The For¬ 
resters were gathered on the front porch after 
dinner, watching the play of heat lightning far 
to the east. The sun had gone down in a fiery 
bank of clouds. The twilight air hung heavy 
and breathless, as though all the earth were 
waiting for the coming storm. 

Mr. and Mrs. Forrester sat in the porch swing, 
Mr. Mazaroff was in his usual chair, and the 
girls were settled on cushions at his feet. It was 
one of Mr. Mazaroff’s good days. He and Daddy 
had been discussing the power dam which they 
were to build in Mexico during the coming win¬ 
ter. As the corporation for which they were 
undertaking it, had stipulated that only native 
labor was to be employed, Daddy had observed 
that he must brush up on his Spanish. 

“You know Spanish, don’t you, Mr. Maz¬ 
aroff?” Frances asked. “Daddy says you speak 
about all the languages there are.” 

133 


134 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


“Your father is too kind, Miss Frances. It is 
true that I have studied Castilian Spanish, but 
that is somewhat different from the Latin Ameri¬ 
can tongue of Mexico. I understand also that 
many Indian dialects are spoken in that coun¬ 
try. 

“Oh, they won’t give you any trouble,” Daddy 
assured him confidently. “You never saw any¬ 
thing like Boris’ gift of tongues, girls. He’s al¬ 
ready studied every civilized language. And the 
heathen ones—well, he only has to hear them 
spoken, and they’re his. It’s a miracle to me.” 

Mr. Mazaroff smiled faintly. “But it is very 
simple, Mr. Forrester. As you say, I have 
studied the European languages. That was a 
part of my education for which I deserve no 
credit, since it was required of me. But for the 
dialects, we Russians are a diverse people, you 
know. In so great a country many tongues are 
spoken, and if we would know our countrymen 
we must know them all. In the Cadet School, 
which I attended in my boyhood, there were lads 
from every part of the Empire, each speaking 
his own. It was a matter of pride to me that I 
could converse with all. Perhaps that practice 
in childhood accounts for the facility with which 
I pick up languages now.” 

“It’s a very useful talent for an engineer,” 



THE BLOW FALLS 


135 


Daddy observed. “And you’ll have plenty of 
chance to use it among our Indian workers. 
Francie, look over the wall! Isn’t that your 
friend Mortimer backing the car out of the 
garage?” 

“Oh, it is!” Frances sat up straight. “Look, 
Daddy, he’s bringing it around to the front 
door. And they haven’t had it out for weeks. 
I wonder—oh, I do believe they’re getting ready 
to go at last!” 

All eyes were turned toward the neighboring 
house, and to the big car waiting in its driveway. 
Mr. Mortimer got out, leaving his motor run¬ 
ning, and went into the house. Frances scarcely 
dared breathe as she waited for him to reap¬ 
pear. Was this just an evening drive to the 
city, such as the Mortimers had often taken dur¬ 
ing their earlier days in Medhurst? If it were, at 
least it might offer an opportunity to see Mary 
Jane, for she had never shared those drives. 
But if it meant something more—oh, if it only 
could mean the long awaited flight! 

The front door opened, and Frances’ heart 
began to pound, for Mr. Mortimer came out with 
two heavy suit cases. He placed these in the car, 
and turned back to the house. The engine 
chugged on impatiently. 

In an ecstacy of suspense, Frances twisted 



136 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

about so that she could steal a glance at Boris 
Mazaroff. He was leaning forward in his chair, 
his eyes fixed on the closed door behind which 
Mr. Mortimer had disappeared. His calm face 
showed no excitement, but Frances felt that he 
was waiting, even as she was, with only one 
thought. What would the opening door reveal? 

“Looks as though they mean business,” Mr. 
Forrester commented. “Things must have been 
getting too hot for him in town, and he’s ready 
to make his getaway. I suppose they’ll drive 
through to Detroit and cross the border there. 
If he’s short of ready cash, that car ought to 
bring him a fair amount of cash when it’s served 
its purpose. It’s a new—” 

“Sh, Daddy!” That was rude, she knew, but 
Frances simply could not help it. For the Mor¬ 
timer door had opened at last. 

The uncle came first, carrying another suit 
case. His wife followed, with a heavy coat over 
her arm, and her overnight bag. Both were 
dressed for traveling. They hurried down the 
path to the car, and Frances was almost ready 
to breathe again when Mr. Mortimer turned 
about and called savagely, “Come on, you! Do 
you think we’ve got all night?” 

From the depths of the house came a faint 
“Yes, uncle.” 

A small figure emerged through the door- 



THE BLOW FALLS 


137 


way, almost staggering under the weight of a 
heavy bag. Mary Jane, for it was she, turned to 
snap off the hall light, closed the door and tried 
it to make certain that the lock had caught. Then 
she scurried down the walk, as fast as her burden 
would allow. 

“She’s just putting in the bag for them, I 
think,” Kathleen whispered, but Frances gasped. 

“She’s wearing her hat and coat. Oh, Kathie, 
I don’t think I can stand it!” 

“Wait!” Kathleen pressed her hand. 

There was a delay while Mr. Mortimer ar¬ 
ranged the luggage to his satisfaction. Then 
he took his place at the wheel, with Mrs. Mor¬ 
timer beside him. He gave a gruff command 
to Mary Jane which the watchers could not 
catch, but the girl obediently climbed into the 
rear seat with the luggage. The door slammed. 
The car moved slowly off. 

Through its rear window the girls caught one 
glimpse of a white, despairing face turned toward 
them. Kathleen waved frantically, but Frances 
sat very still, her head bent, and the hot tears 
splashing down on her clasped hands. 

They had taken Mary Jane, after all. This 
was the end of everything. It was all over, both 
the hope of rescuing her and the happy schemes 
for her future. No need, now, to plan a day 
bed for her in the girls’ room, to clear a third 


138 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

of the closet for her use, and to decide which 
should be her place at table. There would be 
no delightful shopping trips to select checked 
gingham dresses and low-heeled sandals for the 
girl who had dreamed of them so wistfully. 
Mary Jane, shrinking under her aunt’s harsh 
commands, would never even know of the new 
life they had planned for her. 

She was gone, and they would never see her 
again. 

A sharp crash of thunder broke the mournful 
silence which had fallen on the little group. No 
one had spoken. There was nothing to say. Mr. 
Mazaroff had slumped back in his chair. Mr. 
and Mrs. Forrester, their own disappointment 
very keen, were divided between pitying thoughts 
of Mary Jane, and an effort to find words to 
console their daughters. Kathleen was not cry¬ 
ing, but her arm had stolen around her little 
sister’s shoulder. Her eyes drearily followed the 
tail light of the car as it faded away in the gath¬ 
ering dusk. 

“It’s beginning to rain,” Mrs. Forrester said, 
at last. “I think we’d better go in.” 

Boris Mazaroff dragged himself out of his 
chair, his movements those of a tired old man. 
“It is useless to wait here. They will not come 
back.” 


CHAPTER XV 
AFTER THE STORM 

All night the storm raged. Kathleen and 
Frances, lying sleepless in the bed they shared, 
paid little attention to crashing thunder and 
brilliant lightning, for their minds were fully 
occupied by the failure of their plan. 

Their mother had been in after they had 
turned out the light, but even her words of 
gentle comfort had not helped. This was a hurt 
beyond her healing. It wasn’t much use trying 
to make the best of things, when there wasn’t 
any best. Mary Jane was gone, no one knew 
where. They, the only friends she had ever 
known, were powerless to follow or to aid. 

“If only we’d done something while she was 
here!” Frances wept. “I wish now I’d gone to 
those horrible people myself, and begged them 
to let her come to us. They don’t want her, 
really. Maybe if we’d told them how we’d ar¬ 
ranged it they’d have been glad to let her go. 
Oh, Kathie, I shall never forgive myself. Why 
didn’t we do something?” 

“Honey, there was nothing we could do,” 

1S9 


140 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Kathleen repeated patiently. Her own heart 
was sore, for in her reserved way she had loved 
Mary Jane, too. But all her efforts now must 
be turned to quieting her little sister. 

Kathleen searched, in her own mind, for every 
comforting possibility, and even suggested that, 
perhaps the Mortimers would return. But in 
her heart she did not have much faith in this idea. 

“After all, we don’t know that they’ve gone 
for good,” she argued. “They might just be 
taking a week-end motor trip. The house isn’t 
empty, and even the draperies are still hanging 
at the windows. Wouldn’t you feel silly if you 
looked out one morning and saw Mary Jane 
waving to you across the wall? And it may hap¬ 
pen.” 

“Oh, Kathie, it’s no use.” Frances would not 
be consoled. “You know they won’t come back! 
Of course they left the house looking as though 
it were occupied, to fool their creditors. I sup¬ 
pose there’s plenty of furniture left in it, too, 
but that doesn’t prove anything. The longer it 
is before people find out that they’ve gone, the 
better start they’ll have. If only we could have 
found out the names of the people Mr. Mortimer 
cheated! We could have told them he was plan¬ 
ning to run away, and they’d have sent the 
police. We could have— Oh, I don’t know what! 



AFTER THE STORM 


141 


But surely he could have been stopped, if we’d 
only tried hard enough!” 

Gradually, however, Frances grew more calm, 
and, at last, she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. 

The older girl lay motionless, in an effort not 
to disturb her sister’s slumbers, and listened to 
the wind and rain. It was not a pleasant night 
for motor travel. Poor forlorn little Mary Jane, 
rushing through the dark night on an unknown 
road. Where was she now? What future lay 
at the end of that road for her? Finally Kath¬ 
leen, too, fell into uneasy sleep, haunted by trou¬ 
bled dreams. 

The girls awoke to find the sunlight of a per¬ 
fect summer morning streaming into the room. 
The storm had passed, leaving a cool, green 
world washed clean of dust and heat. “As if it 
mattered,” Frances thought listlessly, as she be¬ 
gan to dress. A pleasant day or a gloomy one— 
it was all the same to her now. Mary Jane was 
gone. 

It was a depressed little circle which gathered 
about the breakfast table. Mr. Mazaroff looked 
more ill than usual and even Daddy s cheerful¬ 
ness sounded forced. Kathleen’s head was ach¬ 
ing, and Frances was miserably certain that the 
crisp brown toast could never get past the big 
lump in her throat. 



142 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


Mother turned troubled eyes from one to an¬ 
other, and was just beginning with great firm¬ 
ness, “Now, really, we must try to—” when there 
came a faint, fumbling tinkle of the front door 
bell. 

Mr. Mazaroff, who was nearest the door, got 
to his feet. “I will answer it.” 

They heard him open the door, and waited for 
the voice of the early visitor. None came, but 
in a moment they heard Mr. Mazaroff say, in a 
tone of shocked pity, “Why, my dear!” And 
then, louder, “Mrs. Forrester! Can you come, 
please?” 

The girls were close behind their mother as 
she hurried down the hall, and Daddy followed. 
All of them stopped short in amazement at the 
sight which met their eyes. 

Mr. Mazaroff was bending over a little heap 
in the opened doorway, a heap, it seemed, which 
consisted mostly of soaked red satin and drip- 
ping yellow hair. Already a pool of rainwater 
was forming on the hall floor. As they ap¬ 
proached, the Russian moved aside, and they 
saw that the eyes in the pale little face were 
closed. 

“Mary Jane—it’s Mary Jane!” Frances 
gasped. 

With an easy sweep of his long arms, and com- 



AFTER THE STORM 143 

pletely ignoring his own lameness, Boris Maz¬ 
aroff gathered Mary Jane into his arms. Then he 
headed for the divan in the living room. “Here, 
let me take her! She’s too heavy for you, old 
man,” Mr. Forrester exclaimed anxiously. But 
Mr. Mazaroff strode on as though he had not 
heard. 

As he deposited her gently among the pillows, 
the long lashes swept up, and Mary Jane looked 
about her, pleadingly. “The doctors said I could 
go home,” she murmured faintly. “They didn’t 
know—they didn’t know I hadn’t any!” 

The lids fluttered down, and the voice died 
away. But Frances was kneeling beside her, 
clasping the cold hands tightly in her warm 
ones. “It’s all right—everything’s all right now, 
Mary Jane. You have come home!” 

Mrs. Forrester, her hand on the girl’s wrist, 
spoke reassuringly. “It’s only a faint, dears, her 
pulse is quite strong. But she’s soaking wet, and 
as cold as ice. Can you get her upstairs, Hugh? 
We’ll get these wet clothes off and put her to 
bed. No, Mr. Mazaroff, you must let Hugh 
help. There, that’s it, take her between you. 
Kathleen, you come up and get your bed ready. 
Francie, some hot milk, darling. And bring all 
the hot water bottles in the house. There, my 
dear, you’re safe now.” This last remark, in a 




144 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

very gentle tone, was for Mary Jane. As the 
two men lifted her, she had opened frightened 
eyes again. As they met the kind, anxious gaze 
of the Russian, she let her head drop back 
against his shoulder, with a weary little sigh. 

A few minutes later, the wanderer, warm and 
dry and snuggled into the girls’ bed, and sipped 
a little hot milk. Then she smiled weakly and 
murmured a broken “thank you”; and immedi¬ 
ately plunged deep into the sleep of exhausted 
youth. 

Mrs. Forrester had sternly forbidden any 
questioning until Mary Jane should be stronger. 
The explanation for her strange appearance on 
their doorstep could wait. And it could wait for¬ 
ever, as far as Francie was concerned. Mary 
Jane, whom she had thought never to see again, 
was here, sleeping like a baby in Francie’s bed. 
Why bother about the whys and hows? It had 
happened—the miracle she had not even dared 
hope for. Mary Jane had come home! 


CHAPTER XVI 
HOW IT HAPPENED 

In the late afternoon, Mary Jane opened her 
eyes and smiled at the devoted Frances, who was 
reading by the bed-side. 

“How did I get here?” she asked wonderingly. 
And then, “Oh, I remember!” 

“Well, don’t tell me,” Frances warned. “The 
others all want to hear. I’ll call them in a 
minute. But oh, Mary Jane, I’ve just got to 
give you a big hug first. I thought I was never 
going to see you again! You don’t know how I 
felt when I saw that car drive away.” 

“And you don’t know how I felt!” She put 
up her thin arms and drew her friend close. 
“Francie, dear, it’s so good to be back with you. 
I’ve been so miserable without you and Kathie, 
so lonely—” 

“Well, that’s all over now,” Frances told her 
affectionately. “You aren’t going to be lonely 
for us again, not ever. And now I’m going down 
and find you something to eat. You must be 
starved. And then you’ll have to tell us your ad- 


145 


146 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

ventures, for I don’t think the family curiosity 
will stand the strain much longer.” 

All the Forresters and Mr. Mazaroff followed 
Frances into the room when she returned with a 
tray. Mother had insisted that they were not to 
allow Mary Jane to talk until she had eaten 
something substantial, and for an invalid, she 
displayed a surprisingly healthy appetite. A 
little color had crept back to her pale cheeks, 
when Kathleen took the empty dishes from her, 
and Mary Jane assured Mrs. Forrester that now 
she felt quite well enough to tell her story. 

“It’s hard to begin, though,” she faltered, 
glancing about the circle. Then, taking courage 
from their interested, sympathetic faces, she 
plunged into her narrative. 

“We started to drive to Canada last night. 
My uncle and aunt had been planning the trip 
for days, packing and making all kinds of prep¬ 
arations. They sold most of the furniture, be¬ 
cause they did not mean to come back. My 
uncle’s business—he had a reason for wanting 
to go away quietly, without anybody’s knowing. 
He wouldn’t like— I can’t tell you why he was 
going, and it’s so hard to explain without—” 
she stammered a little, and Mrs. Forrester gave 
her shoulder a reassuring pat. 

“We know that part, Mary Jane. About 





HOW IT HAPPENED 147 

your uncle’s business, and his reasons for want- 
ing to get away.” 

“You know?” the girl’s great eyes widened. 
“And you took me in? It didn’t matter to you 
that my uncle is a—a thief?” 

“Of course it doesn’t matter! It has nothing 
to do with you,” Mrs. Forrester told her gently. 
“Yes, we all feel that way, every one of us. So 
go on, my dear.” 

“But you are so good, so good! I was afraid 
you wouldn’t let me stay here, if you knew. And 
I knew my uncle wouldn’t want me to tell. He 
said I was never, never to discuss his affairs with 
anybody. But he can’t blame me if you already 
knew, can he?” 

“Of course not,” Kathleen answered, firmly. 
“Please go on, Mary Jane. We want to hear 
what happened last night.” 

“Well, and so we started,” the girl began 
again. “You saw us, didn’t you? Oh, I did wish 
I could stop just for a minute to say goodby, 
but I didn’t dare ask. My uncle was sure noth¬ 
ing was known of his—his troubles, yet, and his 
plan was to get safely into Canada before any¬ 
one found out.” 

“But couldn’t you have found some way to 
tell us you were going, Mary Jane?” Frances 
interrupted. “We didn’t dare, because of your 



148 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


aunt, but surely you could have thrown a note 
over the wall?” 

“I thought about it. But—after I knew what 
my uncle had done, I thought you wouldn’t want 
to have anything more to do with me,” she ex¬ 
plained humbly. “And then, I didn’t know until 
the last minute that they meant to take me. My 
uncle didn’t want to, but my aunt said she had 
to have somebody to look after her clothes, and 
it would be better to have me than a strange maid 
who might talk too much. They quarreled about 
it, but my aunt had her way, as she always does.” 

“Delia was partly right, anyway,” Frances 
remarked. “Go on, Mary Jane. I won’t in¬ 
terrupt again.” 

“The storm broke just as we left Medhurst,” 
Mary Jane resumed. “My uncle wanted to turn 
back, but my aunt said that he’d wasted too 
much time already. So we went on. 

“We had to go through the city to get on 
the Detroit road, and we were on East Boulevard 
when my uncle crashed into a car coming from 
a cross street. He was driving terribly fast, 
and he wasn’t paying any attention to the traffic 
lights, because my aunt was constantly urging 
him to hurry. 

“The other driver wasn’t hurt, but his car was 
wrecked, and he was furious. A motorcycle po- 



HOW IT HAPPENED 149 

liceman came, and a crowd gathered, the way 
it always does. My aunt was unconscious—she 
had been thrown out of the car. My uncle’s face 
was bleeding, too. So the policeman called an 
ambulance and had us all taken to the City 
Hospital. The other man said he was going 
straight off to the police station to make sure 
that my uncle was arrested for wrecking his car.” 

Mary Jane paused for breath, and Frances 
shivered. “And you weren’t hurt a bit? Oh, 
Mary Jane, that was luck!” 

“Wasn’t it? I got a few bad bruises, but that 
was all. The doctors said that my aunt’s left leg 
and two of her ribs were broken, and my uncle 
was badly cut by the flying glass. The steering 
wheel broke one of his ribs, too. At the hospital, 
they said neither my aunt nor my uncle was 
dangerously hurt, but both of them will have to 
stay there for a while. The doctors looked me 
over and found that I was all right, so they told 
me I could go home. The house next door is 
locked, and I couldn’t ask my uncle for the key 
then. But the people at the hospital didn’t seem 
to want me around, and I didn’t know what to 
do. So—so I came here,” she ended. 

“And you came to exactly the right place,” 
Mrs. Forrester said. “But, my dear, I still don’t 
quite understand. You say all this happened 




150 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

early last evening? Then if you came here 
straight from the hospital, how is it that you 
didn’t arrive until this morning?” 

“Well, you see,” Mary Jane answered simply, 
“I walked.” 

“You walked? All the way from the City 
Hospital? And in that storm? Why, Mary 
Jane!” 

“I had to. I hadn’t any money, not even 
enough for a telephone call. I hadn’t any money. 
I never do have, Mrs. Forrester.” 

“Well!” Mrs. Forrester opened her mouth to 
utter an indignant comment, at this new evidence 
of the way Mary Jane had been treated, but 
then she said instead, “Never mind, we won’t 
worry about it now. You’re here, and it’s all 
over.” 

“Yes, and you’re going to stay!” Frances said 
eagerly. “Oh, Mary Jane, we have the loveliest 
plan for you!” 

She broke off as Mother shook her head warn¬ 
ing^ Mary Jane had been through an exhaust¬ 
ing experience. Although she seemed none the 
worse for it, this was not the time to risk exciting 
her with new plans. Frances realized instantly 
that her mother’s decision was a wise one. 

“You’ll hear all about it when the time comes,” 
she finished lamely. 


HOW IT HAPPENED 151 

Mary Jane smiled. “I can wait. Of course 
it will be lovely, Francie. Your plans always 
are.” 

Mrs. Forrester rose. “And now we’re all going 
to clear out to give you a chance to get some real 
rest, Mary Jane. That walk! it must be a good 
ten miles to the City Hospital, isn’t it, Hugh? 
Well, that, on top of the shaking up you got in 
the accident, is enough to keep you in bed for a 
day or two, young lady. And don’t worry your 
head any more about anything, my dear,” she 
stooped to kiss the pale forehead. “We’ll take 
care of you.” 


CHAPTER XVII 
MR. MAZAROFF KEEPS HIS WORD 

Mary Jane was asleep again before night, and 
she slept, without stirring, until late the follow¬ 
ing morning. Frances shared the bed with her, 
and the day bed had been installed in the girls’ 
room. Both girls wanted to be near in case she 
needed anything during the night. But Mary 
Jane did not waken when they rose early and 
went quietly downstairs for breakfast. 

Frances came into the room at about ten 
o’clock, carrying a tray daintily laid with fresh 
peaches, cereal and cocoa. 

Mary Jane was awake now, and her first words 
were, “I’m going to get up. Yes, thank you, I 
feel perfectly well, and it’s ridiculous to lie here 
and let you wait on me. You should have called 
me to breakfast downstairs, Francie.” 

“Well, now that your breakfast is here, you 
may as well eat it,” Frances answered calmly. 
“As for getting up—we’ll see what Mums has to 
say about that.” 

Mrs. Forrester, hurrying in to see how the 
patient fared, saw no reason why Mary Jane 

152 



MR. MAZAROFF’S WORD 153 

should not get up if she wanted to. Her bruises 
were not serious, and the long day and night of 
complete rest seemed to have quite restored her 
strength. “Of course you must take it easy for a 
day or two,” the girls’ mother warned. “No 
running and romping, mind you.” 

Frances smiled a little ruefully. All girls were 
little girls to Mother. But Francie doubted that 
Mary Jane had ever done any romping, even 
when she had been very little. However, she did 
not speak her thoughts, for she had no desire to 
remind her guest of the past. 

Instead Frances turned cheerfully to the 
problem of finding clothes for Mary Jane. The 
red satin dress she had worn in the storm was 
streaked and bedraggled beyond hope of repair. 
Frances was not sorry about that dress. Nor did 
she regret the tattered silk stockings and the satin 
shoes. Angry looking blisters on Mary Jane’s 
heels told of the needless torture they had con¬ 
tributed during that memorable walk. Both girls 
had already agreed that Mary Jane was through 
with Mrs. Mortimer’s cast-off finery forever. 

Mary Jane, though several months younger, 
was as tall as Kathleen. She was much thinner, 
but it seemed likely that Kathleen’s clothing 
would fit her better than Frances’. So Frances 
brought from Kathleen’s dresser some pink voile 


154 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

underthings, and a summer smock of rose-colored 
linen. 

It was pathetic to see Mary Jane’s delight as 
she slipped into the cool, clean, simple fabrics. 
“All my life I’ve thought how wonderful it would 
be to wear cotton undies,” she said solemnly. 

Frances laughed. “And all my life I’ve 
thought how wonderful it would be to wear silk! 
Mother makes ours by hand, and she uses voile 
and dimity because Helga thinks they’re easier 
to launder. I know what you mean, though, 
Mary Jane. That lace-trimmed stuff your aunt 
liked wouldn’t appeal to me either. Oh, I love 
that smock on her, Sis!” she exclaimed to 
Kathleen who had just joined them. “That deep 
rose, with the big white collar is exactly right! 
Don’t you think so?” 

Absolutely. How about shoes? Get my party 
slippers, Francie, the Colonial ones. Here are 
some stockings. Oh, they won’t do, either. 
Gracious, Mary Jane, what a tiny foot you have. 
You’d be lost in these.” 

Frances said, “We’ll have to try my shoes, 
Kathie. Here, Mary J ane. These sandals aren’t 
so lovely to look at, but they ought to be about 
the right size. Do you mind ankle socks? They’re 
all I ever wear in summer.” 

“I’ve always wanted them,” Mary Jane an- 


MR. MAZAROFF’S WORD 155 

swered. If you knew how I hated long chiffon 
stockings, how many pairs I’ve had to darn, you’d 
know how precious these are. And the nice flat 
sandals. Do the buckles go this way? Oh, how 
comfy!” 

She took a few steps, smiling. “Why, walking 
is fun in these! If I’d only had them the other 
night, I’d not have been so long on the way. 
I—” she stopped suddenly, for her steps had 
brought her before the full length mirror set in 
the closet door. “It isn’t—that can’t be me!” she 
exclaimed wonderingly. 

Frances laughed. “I, you goose. Don’t you 
remember the old woman on the King’s High¬ 
way? ‘Lawk-a-mercy on me, can this be I?’ It’s 
nobody else, darling, so you might as well get 
used to her. Like her? Ido!” 

“Oh, I do!” Mary Jane breathed ecstatically. 
“At least— It’s vain to say that, isn’t it? My 
aunt always said that vanity is one of my worst 
faults. But I didn’t mean—” 

“Now listen to me, Mary Jane.” Frances took 
her firmly by the arm. “Nobody in this house 
cares a hoot for your aunt’s opinion of your 
faults. Will you do just one thing for me, the 
only thing I’ll ever ask you? Promise? All 
right. Then just forget all about the things you 
had to do to please your aunt, and be yourself ” 



156 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“Yes, she means it,” Kathleen answered Mary 
Jane’s unspoken question. “You don’t have to 
choose your words here, honey. We like you just 
as you are, and we’re not waiting around to 
pounce on some imaginary fault. That goes for 
the whole family, too. And now, if you’re all 
ready, let’s go downstairs. I think the Older 
Generation has something to say to us.” 

“But it’s so different—everything’s so different 
here!” Mary Jane murmured to her reflection in 
the mirror. She smiled a shy, little smile, and 
the mirrored face smiled back at her. With 
Frances’ arm around her shoulders, she followed 
Kathleen to the door. 

Daddy and Mr. Mazaroff were relaxing in deep 
chairs on the front porch when the girls 
found them, and, hearing the gay chatter, Mrs. 
Forrester came out and joined the group. 
“Who’s going to tell Mary Jane the news?” 
Frances demanded, drawing her friend down 
beside her on the steps. “Are you, Mr. Mazaroff? 
Or Daddy? I wish you’d let me do it!” 

“I should be very glad if you would accept the 
task, Miss Frances,” the Russian said, and Mr. 
Forrester nodded. 

“Oh, good!” Frances clasped her hands. 
“Listen, Mary Jane, listen with both your ears, 
for this is all about you. 


MR. MAZAROFF’S WORD 157 

“You’re not going back to those horrid 
Mortimers ever again. You must begin right 
now to forget that there are such people in the 
world. You’re going to stay here with us, and 
wear civilized clothes, and go to the movies some¬ 
times, and play, and have fun! You’re not going 
to be worked to death, and scolded, and ordered 
about. That’s all over forever. Mr. Mazaroff is 
going to take care of you, just like Daddy takes 
care of us. It’ll be like having a real Daddy of 
your own. There, that’s the plan I wanted to tell 
you about yesterday. Isn’t it lovely ?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Mary Jane 
faltered in bewilderment, her great eyes sweeping 
the circle. “I’m stupid, I know. My aunt has 
often said so. Please—” the eyes paused at the 
Russian’s face. “Won’t you tell me?” 

“It is as Miss Frances has said, little one,” he 
assured her. “You have not been well treated by 
your relatives, and we have long felt that you 
should be removed from their charge. If you 
will accept me as your guardian, I shall do my 
best to see that your future is happier than your 
past has been.” 

“But my uncle, my aunt,” she stammered. 
“They will never let me go.” 

“You haven’t seen the morning papers, Mary 
Jane,” Mr. Forrester put in. “Before springing 


158 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

our plan on you we should have told you. Your 
uncle has been arrested at the hospital. No, not 
for reckless driving, but for embezzlement. You 
see, the police already had a warrant to arrest him 
on the embezzlement charge, and when they went 
to the hospital to inquire into the accident they 
recognized him at once. It was a bad thing for 
Mortimer when he hit that other driver, for it 
was that man’s complaint which led the police to 
the hospital. Mortimer would have got away if 
he’d watched his driving.” 

“He—my uncle—he is in prison, then?” Mary 
Jane asked, in a daze. 

“He’s in the hospital at the county jail, and as 
soon as he is able to go into court he will be tried 
on the charge of misappropriating funds en¬ 
trusted to him. From what the papers say, it’s a 
clear case. He’s pretty certain to spend the 
next few years of his life in the penitentiary. I 
hope you won’t feel badly about this news, Mary 
Jane. We had to tell you.” 

“My uncle is a bad man,” Mary Jane said 
slowly. “He cheated those poor people who 
trusted him with their money, and then he tried 
to run away. I can’t make myself feel sorry that 
he must be punished. Once I should have tried, 
but only this morning Francie told me I must 
‘be myself.’ I am not sorry, Mr. Forrester.” 




MR. MAZAROFF’S WORD 159 

“And I’m not either,” he agreed heartily. “I’m 
mighty glad you’re too sensible to waste any 
sympathy on the scoundrel. Believe me, he’s not 
worth it. Well, that s that. WFat I’m getting at 
is that Mortimer is not in any position to interfere 
with you. For that matter, besides being in dif¬ 
ficulties with the law, I understand he’s bank- 
1 upt. He couldn t possibly make any provision 
for taking care of you. Under those circum¬ 
stances, some arrangement would have to be 
made, and I see no reason why my friend, Boris 
here, shouldn’t be allowed to take on the job. 
He’ll have to make formal application to the 
court to adopt you, but if it’s satisfactory to you 
I think it will go through all right. How do you 
feel about it yourself, Mary Jane?” 

Feel about—oh, you mean about having Mr. 
Mazaroff for my guardian instead of my uncle? 
But I can’t tell you—it’s too wonderful to think 
of! Only I haven’t any right to expect it. Noth¬ 
ing like that ever could happen to me. He— 
you—” she turned, distressed toward the silent 
Russian. “You don’t know me, Mr. Mazaroff, or 
anything about me. I can’t let you—you couldn’t 
possibly want— me \” 

Boris Mazaroff leaned forward, and putting a 
thin hand beneath her chin, he looked deep into 
her eyes. 




160 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“Listen, my little one,” he said very gently. 
“Listen well. I am alone in the world as you are 
alone. I have known sorrow; so, I think, have 
you. May it not be that we two sad ones were 
meant to find our way into the sunshine together? 
I do want you, my dear. More than I thought 
ever to want anything again. Is it, ‘Yes’?” 

Mary Jane gave a deep sigh. Then quite 
simply she put her two hands into his. “I can’t 
believe it—I don’t deserve it, Mr. Mazaroff. 
But I’ll try—oh, I will try! Of course it’s ‘Yes’!” 

It was Frances who struck the first discordant 
note in the babble of congratulations and rejoic¬ 
ing which followed. A terrible doubt had pricked 
its way into her mind, and she could never conceal 
her worries. 

“Listen, everybody! We’ve forgotten all about 
Mrs. Mortimer!” she cried. “She isn’t in jail, 
she’s only in the hospital for a few weeks. And 
she’s the one who thinks up the pleasant little 
home duties for Mary Jane. The Canadian trip’s 
off, so when she gets well she’ll be coming back 
to the house next door. What do we do when she 
comes home and screams for Mary Jane to come 
and attend to the week’s washing? Will someone 
please tell me that?” 

Both Kathleen and Mary Jane turned smitten 
faces toward her, but Mr. Forrester did not seem 
perturbed. 




MR. MAZAROFF’S WORD 161 

“Boris and I have considered that,” he ex¬ 
plained. “Mrs. Mortimer will have to be dealt 
with before any legal steps can be taken, but we 
aren’t worrying. I called the hospital this morn¬ 
ing and found that it would be weeks before she 
can be about. She hasn’t asked for Mary Jane, 
or shown any interest in the child’s welfare, and 
we won’t remind her. If we can show the court 
that Mary Jane is being cared for in a good 
home, and that Mazaroff is able and willing* to 
provide for her, while the Mortimers are not able, 
and have shown no willingness, I don’t think we’ll 
have anything to worry about. We’ll just let 
things slide along for a while, and let the legal 
end of it wait until after Mortimer’s conviction. 
There’ll be no trouble then, I’m sure.” 

That was enough for Frances. It was enough, 
too, for the others. Only in Mary Jane’s eyes a 
shadow lingered, the shadow of an old dread, too 
strong to be so quickly tossed aside. As they all 
entered the house for luncheon, she drew her new 
guardian aside with a timid hand on his arm. 

“You won’t let her get me again, will you?” 
she asked fearfully. 

“Indeed I will not.” He drew her arm through 
his, and smiled down at her, but his voice was 
serious. “You are mine now, little one. Always 
remember that. No one shall take you from me 
while I live.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 
HAPPY DAYS 

It seemed to Frances and Kathleen that it was 
a genuine effort to recall the time “before we had 
Mary Jane.” 

Everyday living with their rescued protege 
only deepened their affection for her. She was 
pure gold through and through, and sunnily un¬ 
selfish always. She eagerly seized every oppor¬ 
tunity to show her gratitude. Yet Mary Jane 
was not in the least “goody-goody,” a quality 
the girls abhorred. Mary Jane had a very real 
sense of fun. Even though it had been painfully 
suppressed for many years, it was delightful to 
watch it unfold now. Frances often thought of 
the time when she had first coaxed Mary Jane 
to laugh aloud. How different that scared little 
chuckle had been from the low, delighted laughter 
which came so readily nowadays! 

The improvement in Mary Jane’s health and 
appearance, which began while her aunt was 
away, and was so suddenly checked by Mrs. 
Mortimer’s return, now went forward at an amaz¬ 
ing pace. Mrs. Forrester and Helga rejoiced to 

162 


HAPPY DAYS 163 

see the sharp bones rapidly covering with firm 
flesh, but it was t ranees who discovered the first 
dimple in Mary Jane s rounded cheeks. Kathleen 
insisted that the young girl’s fair hair, which 
Mrs. Mortimer had kept closely cropped, should 
be worn longer. And, as it grew it displayed an 
unexpected tendency to twist itself into little 
windblown ringlets. The effect was fascinating 
when contrasted with the blackness of Mary 
Jane’s long lashes, and her dark eyes. Her beauty 
would never be of the conventional pink-and- 
white type, but, in its odd way, it was unquestion¬ 
ably real beauty. In the sunshine of happiness 
the real Mary Jane was revealing herself. The 
whole household watched her with the cherishing 
delight they might have shown for some rare 
flower. 

The sweetest thing about her, the Forresters 
thought, was her way with Mr. Mazaroff. The 
sisters had told her of their worry about his 
health, and also of Frances’ theory that Mary 
Jane might be “good medicine” for him. Shyly, 
but with immense determination, the girl made 
him her special care. She would appear on the 
porch with a tall glass of cold milk, and coax him 
to drink it to the last drop. 

She was quick to see when conversation tired 
him, but when he was well enough, she would sit 


164 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


for hours on the step at his feet, and draw him 
into talk of books. Mary Jane had had little 
chance to read, but now she grasped at every 
opportunity to read, and to listen to others talk¬ 
ing of books. Mr. Mazaroff seemed to enjoy 
molding her reading tastes, and discussing each 
new exciting discovery she made in literature. 

He was never to know how carefully she 
managed it, but one day he felt the impulse to 
offer to stroll down to the library to help her find 
a book. It was the first time Mr. Mazaroff had 
gone to the village, and, except for his first ex¬ 
hausting trips to the city with Mr. Forrester, it 
was the first time he had left the house since his 
arrival. 

After that it seemed quite natural for Mary 
Jane and her guardian to take a walk every day, 
but only a short one at first. The walks gradually 
grew longer as Mr. Mazaroff found that he tired 
less and less easily. This exercise, gentle as it 
was, soon gave an edge to his listless appetite. 
He slept better, too, and the dark circles under his 
eyes began to fade away. 

This renewed interest in life was apparent in 
every word the Russian spoke. It was no .longer 
difficult to make conversation with him. He 
amazed Mrs. Forrester one day by asking if he 
might use the drawing board Daddy kept at 


HAPPY DAYS 165 

home. She agreed readily enough, and when 
Mr. Forrester returned he found his assistant 
busily engaged upon a sketch of the Mexican 
dam. 

“But hold on, Boris, you can’t do it that way!” 
Daddy exclaimed, throwing his hat on the table 
and coming to look over his shoulder. “Here— 
and here —” he touched various points, “That 
wouldn’t do. It’d never stand up. You see—” 
and he went on to make the necessary technical 
explanations. Mr. Mazaroff listened respect¬ 
fully, for he professed no knowledge of Ameri¬ 
can rivers and soil conditions. 

“I didn’t suppose it would be practical,” he 
said candidly, when he had been convinced. “But 
I began thinking about the project, and I 
wanted to see it on paper. It helps me to under¬ 
stand it more clearly. And it’s high time I began 
to concentrate on the idea. We’ve discussed it in 
general terms, but now I want to know exactly 
how you propose to handle it, and what my job 
is going to be. If I’m going to be worth my 
salary to you, it’s time I began to work.” 

“Oh, you’ll make up for lost time, don’t 
worry,” Mr. Forrester said. “I’ll bring some 
stuff home from the office tomorrow. No, I’m 
not going to have you go into town in this heat. 
There are quite a lot of details I’d like to have you 




166 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

work out, if you feel up to it, but they can per¬ 
fectly well be done here.” 

He spoke casually, concealing’ the wonder and 
relief he felt. The miracle had happened. At 
last Boris had “come alive”! “Bless that child, 
she s done this!” Mr. Forrester told himself de¬ 
lightedly. Mary Jane had proved that Frances’ 
theory was right, and she had shown herself to be 
good medicine indeed. 

July passed, and most of August. The days 
were beautiful. The sun shone, the birds sang, 
and never an unpleasant incident ruffled the 
happy life in the Forrester household. Mary 
Jane blossomed into beauty, and Mr. Mazaroff 
gained strength daily. Mrs. Forrester went 
about the house smiling, and, in the kitchen, 
Helga lifted her quavering voice in Swedish folk¬ 
songs. 

There had been a most exciting expedition to 
the city, to buy Mary Jane a complete new out¬ 
fit. It had been hard to entice her into express¬ 
ing any preferences, for she asked only to have 
clothes like those the other girls wore. But 
Kathleen and I ranees had reveled in choosing* 

O _ O 

for her. They selected flowery cotton prints, 
soft-toned linens, checked ginghams, with lovely 
summer organdies for best. “Not silk, please,” 
Mary Jane had pleaded, and though they laughed 


HAPPY DAYS 167 

at her prejudice, the girls were careful to respect 
it. Mrs. Mortimer’s passion for rich fabrics had 
given Mary Jane a lasting distaste for them. 

Somewhere, in the hot crowded city, Mr. 
J. Sterling Mortimer waited in jail to answer for 
his wrongdoing. Somewhere, in a hospital, Mrs. 
Mortimer nursed her broken bones, and vented 
her temper upon long-suffering nurses. No word 
came from either of the Mortimers, and to the 
Forresters they had faded like people in a dream. 

Even to Mary J ane the old unhappy days had 
grown faraway and unreal. This was her place, 
here in this cheery house where she was never 
scolded, and where she could love and expect to 
be loved in return. The gloomy, tenantless house 
next door, where she had suffered so much, had 
lost its power over her. 

Why, then, in the midst of perfect peace, did 
she shudder sometimes when that house cast its 
grim shadow across the garden wall? Why did 
a little chill steal over her heart, if she happened 
to glance at its frowning windows? 

It was nothing to her now. She had escaped 
from its dark spell, and it could never claim her 
again. Her future was secure. Safe and smiling, 
it lay spread before her. 

In the autumn, before leaving for Mexico, 
Mr. Forrester and her guardian would apply to 


168 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


the court to make her adoption legal. She would 
stay here with the friends she loved, happy and 
protected. School would begin, so different from 
last year. Then she had been so miserable, so sure 
that everyone was laughing, when she was not 
looking, at her wretched clothes. She had often 
shaken her head when the teacher had asked a 
question to which she really knew the answer, 
just because she dreaded having to stand up and 
recite with all eyes focussed upon her. 

It would all be different now! In the pretty 
clothes Mr. Mazaroff had bought for her, and 
sponsored by Kathleen and Frances, she would 
go back to her classes. She could make friends 
among the girls and boys, and show the teachers 
what she could do, now that she was daring at 
last to “be herself.” And always there would be 
letters to write, and something joyous to look 
forward to. As Kathleen and Frances would be 
planning eagerly for wonderful times “when 
Daddy comes home,” she too would plan. She, 
too, would have someone coming home, someone 
dear who belonged to her. 

It was a wonderful future. What could the 
Mortimer house do to her now? Nothing, of 
course. 

And yet—! 


CHAPTER XIX 
NATALYA 

One hot, lazy afternoon in late August, Mr. 
and Mrs. Forrester had gone to the city. Mary 
Jane and Frances had strolled down to the corner 
drugstore for a soda, but Kathleen had refused 
to join them. She said the ice cream could not 
possibly be worth the long walk in the blazing 
sun. 

She and Mr. Mazaroff had decided that today 
the living room with its electric fan was preferable 
to the porch. As usual nowadays, he was busy 
with blue prints of the Mexican job, and he bent 
absorbedly over the drawing board. Kathleen 
was curled up in the biggest chair with an ex¬ 
tremely dull book. 

Over the top of it, she studied her companion. 
How he had changed in the six weeks since Mary 
Jane had come to them! Kathleen remembered 
how incredulous she and Frances had been when 
Daddy told them that Mr. Mazaroff was his own 
age, forty-two. With those tired lines in his face, 
and his white hair, he had seemed much older to 
them. But about twenty years had dropped from 


169 


170 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

his age with his recovery, Kathleen decided now. 

Of course his hair was still white, but over a 
healthy, tanned face it did not make him look 
old. Instead it added an aristocratic and a dis¬ 
tinguished touch to his appearance. Kathleen 
recalled little Francie’s early speculations as to 
whether their guest might not be a prince. 
Dreamily she tried to picture him in the royal 
raiment of the characters in the illustrations of 
her old fairy-tale book. But modern princes 
wouldn’t wear those clothes anyway, she decided. 
What would they wear? Uniforms, perhaps? 
Yes, that was it. A white and gold uniform, with 
a long sweeping cape, and a jeweled sword, 
and— 

“I’m sorry,” she started guiltily, realizing that 
Mr. Mazaroff had spoken to her. “I was almost 
asleep. It’s too hot to read.” 

“Too hot for work, also,” he smiled. “And I 
cannot proceed with this until I have spoken with 
your father. I think I shall merely be lazy for the 
rest of the day.” 

He put away his drawing board and settled 
himself in the chair opposite her. “Do you know 
where Mary Jane is?” he asked. 

Kathleen smiled mischievously. “You always 
say that. No matter what you’re doing, if you 
look around and find she’s out of sight you want 



NATALYA 171 

to know where she is. This time she went to the 
drug store with Francie, Mr. Mazaroff.” 

He laughed. “I suppose I am a little like a 
hen with one chick. Are you making fun of me, 
child?” 

Kathleen shook her head. “I think it’s sweet. 
She’s the same way about you, too. Mr. Maz¬ 
aroff, do you mind if I ask you something?” 

“Of course not, my dear. What is it?” 

“When we first knew Mary Jane,” Kathleen 
answered slowly, “she was terribly worried be¬ 
cause she couldn’t find out anything about her 
own family. You remember, we told you her 
story that day Delia came. I don’t know if she 
ever thinks about it now, and I hope she doesn’t. 
Well, what I wanted to ask you is this. Does it 
make any difference to you, this mystery about 
her? If the Mortimers should decide not to keep 
their secret any longer, and if it became known 
that her parents really were dreadfully wicked 
people—would you care? Would you not want 
Mary Jane then?” 

“My dear child, what a thought!” Boris Maz- 
aroff’s deep voice was vibrant with emotion. “I 
assure you that nothing anyone could reveal to 
me would make the slightest difference in my 
feeling for my little ward. Surely you do not 
think so poorly of me as that?” 



172 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

“No, I didn’t really think so,” Kathleen ad¬ 
mitted. “But I had to be sure. Mrs. Mortimer is 
a spiteful woman, and it would be like her to try 
to make trouble when she comes home and finds 
that Mary Jane has gone. If there really is some 
old scandal that Mrs. Mortimer could use as a 
weapon against her, she’d do it. And if she could 
turn you against Mary Jane—well, we know that 
she likes to have Mary Jane to wait on her, and 
there’d be no place else for her to go, would 
there?” 

“Please, Miss Kathleen, you are not to vex 
your mind with such thoughts! Whatever her 
parents may have done, the child herself is blame¬ 
less. No one can influence me against her. Please 
believe that.” 

“All right, I will,” Kathleen said gratefully. 
“I do wish, though, we’d succeeded in solving the 
mystery ourselves. Then we wouldn’t have to 
worry about what Mrs. Mortimer might say.” 

“There was so little to work with, as I re¬ 
member your story,” he said sympathetically. 
“I think you told me your search for documents 
proved quite fruitless?” 

“Yes. The only possible clue we found was 
the picture, and it didn’t seem to help any.” 

“The picture? I don’t think I recall—” 

“Don’t you remember, Mr. Mazaroff ? We told 



NATALYA 173 

you we found a miniature, all scratched and bat¬ 
tered. Frances was just going up to get it when 
Delia came, I think.” 

“So she was. I had quite forgotten. Have you 
the picture still?” 

“It’s upstairs in Francie’s work basket. She’s 
keeping it for Mary Jane, but we thought we 
wouldn’t say anything about it for a while. Mary 
Jane is so happy, and she seems to have forgotten 
all her old worries. We just couldn’t bear to 
bring them back. But would you like to see it? 
Maybe you could suggest something, for it 
doesn’t tell us a thing. I’ll run up and get it.” 

She was back in a few minutes, with the little 
leather case. “Here it is,” she said eagerly, and 
put it into his hand. 

The broken hinges fell back. Undismayed by 
her cruel scars, the Angel Lady smiled gallantly 
up at Basil Mazaroff. 

He gave her the briefest of glances. Then he 
started, held it up to the light, and peered at it 
incredulously. Suddenly he held the miniature 
straight out before him, and broke into a torrent 
of words which had no sense nor meaning for the 
bewildered girl who watched him. He had for¬ 
gotten her very presence, for now he was cra¬ 
dling the picture tenderly in his hands. He 
crooned to it in that strange tongue, pressing it to 


174 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

his lips, while slow difficult tears rolled down his 
white face. 

Had he gone mad? Kathleen shrank back 
against the chair, too frightened to speak. But 
suddenly he whirled around facing her and his 
eyes blazed into her face. 

“Where did you get this?” he demanded 
hoarsely. 

“Why, Mr. Mazaroff, I told you,” she 
quavered. “We found it in Mr. Mortimer’s desk. 
Is it—is it someone you know?” 

“It is my wife,” he answered brokenly. “My 
little Natalya, dead on the anniversary of her 
wedding day. All these years—all these years. 
Oh, Natalya, my darling, it has been weary 
waiting—” 

Kathleen laid a timid hand on his arm. “I am 
so sorry, Mr. Mazaroff,” she whispered, blinking 
back the tears which were crowding thick behind 
her eyelids. 

He straightened his bowed shoulders, and 
spoke more naturally. 

“Forgive me, little one, I have frightened you. 
The surprise—the shock—I think I lost my head. 
Look at her with me, my dear. Is she not lovely? 
And see, I will show you something.” 

With infinitely tender care he slid the strip 
of ivory from its leather bed and turned it over. 






NATALYA 175 

On the yellowed back, a few words were written 
in faded violet ink. 

“You do not read Russian, of course. It says, 
‘For the birthday of Boris. From his Natalya/ 
So well do I remember that day, and her gift! 
Tell me again, my dear, for my poor brain seems 
not able to take it in. How is it possible that you 
restore Natalya’s gift to me hereV 3 

“We found it at Mary Jane’s house, Mr. Maz- 
aroff,” Kathleen repeated patiently. “We were 
looking through her uncle’s old desk, and this 
was in a tobacco pouch, stuffed behind a drawer. 
Did—did you give it to Mr. Mortimer?” she 
ventured. 

He passed his hand across his, eyes, as though 
brushing away cobwebs. “In the story you told 
me of the child,” he said, taking no heed of her 
question, “Was there not something about 
jewels? This uncle—he was selling a treasure of 
some sort, in her childhood memory? Will you 
not tell me that story again, Miss Kathleen?” 

Kathleen complied, going carefully into every 
detail Mary Jane had given them of the visit of 
the Man with the Beard. Faithfully she repeated 
the conversation over the crib, the visitor’s offer 
to place the baby in an orphanage, and the uncle’s 
refusal because his wife had had a fancy to be 
served “by one of that family.” 



176 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Mr. Mazaroff made her repeat this part several 
times. He was still questioning her, and she was 
doing her best to recall Mary Jane’s report word 
for word, when Frances came running into the 
room. 

But it was a very woebegone Frances. Her 
cheeks were streaked with tears, her face was 
working convulsively, and her breath came in 
sobbing gasps. She ran straight to Mr. Mazaroff 
and tugged at his hand, though she could scarcely 
speak. 

“Come—quick!” she choked out. “She—she’s 
got her!” 




CHAPTER XX 
THE DRAGON RETURNS 

Kathleen took her sister by the shoulders. 
“Stop it!” she commanded firmly. “Frances, do 
you hear me? Stop crying this minute, and tell 
us what is the matter.” 

The younger girl was shaking uncontrollably, 
and her teeth chattered. But at her sister’s in¬ 
sistence she pulled herself together and gasped 
out her story. 

She and Mary Jane had been sauntering home, 
laughing and talking. Just before they reached 
the Mortimer gate Frances had noticed that a 
taxicab drove off, leaving a woman standing on 
the sidewalk. Frances didn’t look at the woman 
except casually, and she didn’t think that Mary 
Jane was even conscious of her presence. But 
just as the two girls were about to pass her, she 
turned. Her hand shot out and caught Mary 
Jane by the shoulder. It was Mrs. Mortimer. 

“Oh, it was horrible!” Frances sobbed. “She 
didn’t say a word, but her eyes were just blazing! 
She opened the gate and marched Mary Jane in. 
And she—Mary Jane, I mean—tried to tell her 

177 




178 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


that she was living with us now, and Mrs. 
Mortimer slapped her right across the mouth! 
Ugh, I didn’t know people could be like that! I 
went in too—she was just dragging Mary Jane. 
I followed right along, clear up to the front steps, 
trying to tell her too. And when she got to the 
door, she opened it and shoved Mary Jane into 
the hall. Then she turned around and pushed 
me—no, it wasn’t a blow, it was just a hard push 
—but I fell down the steps and cut my knee. And 
then she slammed the door! Oh, Kathie, it was 
terrible! And I couldn’t do anything, so I ran to 
get Mr. Mazaroff. You won’t let them keep her, 
will you? Won’t you please, please go and make 
her give Mary Jane back?” 

“I will go.” There was a grim note in Boris 
Mazaroff’s voice, a dangerous glint in his eyes. 
Very deliberately he put on his coat, dropping the 
little leather case into his pocket. 

“No, you will not come with me, please. It is 
better that I go alone. Have no fear. I will bring 
her back to you.” 

He strode to the door and disappeared. 

“Oh, Sis, we should have gone,” Frances ex¬ 
claimed fearfully. “There’s no telling what that 
awful woman will say to him.” 

“No, nor what he will say to that awful 
woman,” Kathleen answered soberly. “Did you 





THE DRAGON RETURNS 179 

see his eyes? I don’t think I’d care to be in 
Mrs. Mortimer’s shoes right now. Oh, why did 
she have to come back, just when everything was 
going so beautifully?” 

Footsteps on the front porch just then sent 
them running to the door. But it was only Daddy 
and Mother, returning from their afternoon in 
town. The girls fell upon them excitedly, eager 
to recount the unexpected calamity. 

“Come in the living room and sit down,” Mr. 
Forrester suggested. “And try to talk one at a 
time, if you expect me to make head or tail of it. 
Now, Kathleen, you tell us. What’s all this ex¬ 
citement about?” 

As calmly as she could, Kathleen related the 
story of Mary Jane’s encounter, and of Mr. Maz- 
aroff’s determination to rescue her. 

“He can make Mrs. Mortimer give her up, 
can’t he, Daddy?” Francie demanded before he 
had time to comment. “She won’t have to go 
back to that horrible woman for good? oh, Daddy, 
say she won’t!” 

“I hope not.” Daddy wrinkled his brows. 
“But the woman is her aunt. It’s a bad situation. 
Boris should have made his application before 
this, I’m afraid. But we wanted to wait till after 
the uncle’s conviction, if possible, to strengthen 
our case. I can’t understand it! We were keep- 


180 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

ing in touch with the hospital, and they said 
nothing about discharging her today. Did she 
seem ill when you saw her, Frances?” 

“Ill! If you’d seen the grip she had on poor 
Mary Jane—and the push she gave me! Oh, I 
don’t see why they ever let her go. Why couldn’t 
they put her in jail with her husband, and keep 
her there? I just know she told him to steal. He 
wouldn’t have dared do it without her permission, 
anyway. He’s as frightened of her as—as I am. 
And that’s a lot,” Frances ended honestly. 

“Mr. Mazaroff isn’t frightened of her,” 
Kathleen commented. “And whether it’s legal 
or not, I know he’s going to bring Mary Jane 
back with him. He said so. He was furious with 
the Mortimers anyway, about the picture— Oh, 
I haven’t told you! I was so excited about Mary 
Jane that everything else went completely out of 
my head.” 

“Well, don’t get excited again,” Mother said 
soothingly. “What is it, dear, about a pic¬ 
ture?” 

“It was the miniature we found in Mary Jane’s 
attic. You remember, Mums, Francie showed 
you? We called her the Angel Lady. Well, Mr. 
Mazaroff had never seen it, and this afternoon 
we were talking about the mystery of Mary 
Jane’s parents, and I got it to show to him. And 




THE DRAGON RETURNS 181 


Mums—Daddy! He recognized it right away. 
It was his wife!” 

“Kathleen, are you romancing?” Daddy asked 
suspiciously. “You mean it resembled his wife, 
don’t you? Though that’s startling enough news. 
I didn’t know that Boris had ever been married.” 

“I mean it was his wife, Daddy, really and 
truly. He showed me where she had written in 
Russian on the back of the picture, ‘For the 
birthday of Boris, from his Natalya.’ That was 
her name, and now she is dead. He told me so. 
Oh, I felt so sorry for him! I never saw a grown 
man cry before. Then he began to ask me about 
the Mortimers, and especially about that night 
the Man with the Beard came, and the jewels, 
and what Mr. Mortimer had said. Then you 
rushed in, Francie, and drove it all out of my 
mind.” 

“But I can’t believe it!” Mr. Forrester ex¬ 
claimed. “How in the world could a Russian 
lady’s portrait turn up here? Where would 
ordinary Americans like the Mortimers have 
gotten it?” 

“Are you quite sure they are Americans, 
Hugh?” Mrs. Forrester asked. “Now that I 
think of it, there’s a foreign look about them, 
although I believe they speak English perfectly. 
But that doesn’t mean anything, for so does 


182 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


Mr. Mazaroff. And that name, ‘J. Sterling 
Mortimer,’ has always sounded a little theatrical 
to me. Don’t immigrants with unpronounceable 
names often take new ones in this country? Be¬ 
sides, since he was in business here, he may have 
thought that an American name would inspire 
more confidence.” 

“Yes, that’s happened often enough,” Daddy 
admitted. “You think, then, that the Mortimers 
are Russian emigrants? That they stole the 
picture from Boris and brought it to this country? 
It could happen, I suppose. But here’s another 
question. If the aunt and uncle aren’t Mr. and 
Mrs. Mortimer, then who is Mary Jane Smith?” 

“That’s a made-up name too, I know it!” 
Frances cried. “And the very ugliest American 
name they could find. Auntie would make sure 
of that. Oh, Kathie, aren’t you glad? I never 
thought Mary Jane Smith was the right name 
for her!” 

“I never thought so, either,” Kathleen agreed. 
“I don’t think it’s an ugly name, though. It 
would be quite quaint and pretty for some girls. 
But it just didn’t fit her, any more than her 
aunt’s shoes did. She—oh, look! There she is!” 


CHAPTER XXI 
THE PRINCESS TANYA 

Every head turned toward the window. From 
the house next door an odd little procession was 
issuing. 

In front, walked a curiously changed Mrs. 
Mortimer. Her bold black eyes were cast down, 
her shoulders drooped, and her feet seemed to 
leave the ground unwillingly. In spite of her 
fashionable clothes, she was no longer the grand 
lady who had sneered so disdainfully at her 
Medhurst neighbors. 

Behind her came Mr. Mazaroff with Mary 
Jane. She had both hands clasped on his arm, 
and was talking excitedly. 

As they reached the foot of the steps the 
woman faltered, and the Russian spoke sharply 
to her. With a submissive nod, she turned her 
shuffling feet toward the Forrester gate. 

Frances flew to open the door. And Mrs. Mor¬ 
timer stepped meekly aside as Mary Jane drew 
Mr. Mazaroff into the room. Her eyes were 
shining, and her face was transfigured. 

183 


184 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


“Girls—Mrs. Forrester—Mr. Forrester!” she 
cried breathlessly. “This is my father!” 

He led her forward a step, and bent his white 
head in a courtly bow to the amazed family. 

“And I, my good friends, I have the great 
honor to present to you the Princess Tanya Maz- 
aroff—my daughter!” 

While Mr. and Mrs. Forrester wrung Mr. 
Mazaroff’s hand in a babel of questions and con¬ 
gratulations, the former Mary Jane, with an arm 
around each girl’s neck, was crying a little from 
pure happiness. “I have a father too, a real 
one, just like you! Isn’t it wonderful? The one 
thing I wanted most in the world!” 

“But he is a prince, then—he really is!” 
Frances breathed. “Oh, I knew it, I knew it 
from the start, didn’t I, Sis? And you—you’re 
a princess, Mary Jane. Or do I have to call you 
Your Highness?” 

“You call me Tanya, of course, my own name. 
Isn’t it sweet? I never felt like Mary Jane, some¬ 
how. My mother’s name was Natalya, Francie, 
that’s lovely too. And what do you think—she 
was the Angel Lady! And she was an angel, 
really. My father says so!” 

“Yes, we know about her, poor darling. But 
do tell us,” Frances persisted. “Does it feel any 
different to be a princess?” 






THE PRINCESS TANYA 185 

“Of course it feels different! All the difference 
in the world between being somebody, with a 
real father, and being—just nobody. The title 
part isn’t anything. My father was so excited 
that he forgot that there aren’t any princesses in 
Russia now. So I’m not one, you know, except 
to him. But to know that I’m his daughter— 
why, that’s enough to make me feel royal for the 
rest of my life!” 

“Well, if we can calm ourselves for a mo¬ 
ment,” Mr. Forrester suggested now, “suppose 
we sit down and you tell us how this all came 
about, Boris. I must admit that I’m pretty much 
at sea. Things have moved much too fast for 
me in the last hour or two.” 

“Yes, let’s do that,” Mother agreed. “Oh, 
won’t you have a chair, Mrs. Mortimer?” 

The woman had been standing silently, with 
bent head, just inside the door, unobserved and 
forgotten in the hubbub. At Mrs. Forrester’s 
words she took an uncertain step forward, and 
looked apprehensively toward Boris Mazaroff. 
He stopped her with a gesture. 

“She will remain where she is, Mrs. Forrester. 
It is not fitting that such as she should sit in 
the presence of her betters. I shall have finished 
with her shortly, and then she may go.” 

He turned his back upon her and sank to the 




186 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

divan, drawing his daughter down beside him. 

“There are so many things to be explained, 
my dear friends, that I must ask your patience 
if my story proves a long one.” 

“Oh, we don’t mind that!” Frances exclaimed. 
“Tell us every bit of it. Don’t leave out a 
word!” 

“Once before you asked for my story, Miss 
Francie.” He smiled at the way she had squeezed 
herself into the corner next to Tanya. “I told 
you then it was a grim, unhappy one, not meant 
for young ears. I little knew, then, in what 
happy circumstances I should at last be telling 
it to you.” 


CHAPTER XXII 
THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED 

“The Mazaroffs are an old family of the 
south of Russia,” he began slowly. “Ours was 
a powerful family once, and one which played 
no inglorious part in the history of my unhappy 
Russia. In later years, by some strange twist of 
fate, few male children had been born into the 
family. I was the last of the line, when I suc¬ 
ceeded to the title and estates, upon the death 
of my father. Until today, I believed that the 
Mazaroff name would die with me.” 

“May I interrupt, just once?” Frances asked. 
“I do want to get this straight. I always thought 
that a prince was a king’s son. Was your father 
a king?” 

Mr. Mazaroff smiled. “That was not the case 
in Russia, Miss Francie. The children of our 
Emperor were grand dukes and duchessses. 
‘Prince’ was a title indicating nobility, similar 
to that of ‘duke’ or ‘earl’ in England. Although 
my family was older than the reigning house, we 
were not royal. And as, of course, you know, all 
titles have been abolished since the Revolution.” 

187 


188 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


Frances caught an impatient glance from her 
sister. “Thanks,” she said hurriedly. “And 
please go on.” 

“At the outbreak of the World War,” he re¬ 
sumed, “I was betrothed to a lovely young lady, 
the daughter of a neighboring land-owner. We 
Mazaroffs have ever been a race of soldiers, and 
I held a commission in the Imperial Guard. 
Since the Japanese War, however, Russia had 
been at peace with the world, and my betrothed 
and I looked forward to a long and peaceful life 
in the country. Neither of us cared for court 
life, and we planned to make our home in the 
castle on the Don where I was born. 

“The outbreak of the War disrupted all our 
plans. I was summoned to my regiment, and 
our wedding was postponed. It was seven long 
years before I saw my beloved again.” 

“Seven years?” Mr. Forrester interrupted. 
“But the War didn’t last—excuse me, Boris. 
Go on.” 

“The World War lasted only four years, you 
were going to say? For the Russians, my friend, 
the Great War was only a preliminary. Torn 
by internal strife, we concluded peace treaties 
with the Central Powers long before our Allies. 
And only then did we begin to know the real 
horror of war. Civil war is the bitterest of all. 



THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED 189 


You will perhaps recall that we had two Revo¬ 
lutions? First there was the Kerensky Revolu¬ 
tion, when my Imperial Master the Tsar was 
forced to abdicate. Later came the Bolshevik 
Revolution which overthrew the Kerensky Pro¬ 
visional Government.” He hesitated a moment. 

“Russian politics and Russian history of the 
past two decades, are most involved subjects, 
my dear friends. I am trying to tell you only my 
personal story. It is enough that I allied myself 
with General Denikin’s Volunteer Army, which 
was striving desperately to stem the tide of each 
Revolution in turn. A hopeless task, as we 
know now, but it seemed then that there was a 
chance. We made our first stand in the north, 
but were gradually forced down, and down, 
toward the Black Sea. 

“Here, for a brief time, we found peace. Our 
enemies, wearied, pursued us no farther. In 
the Ukraine a liberal republic had been set up, 
modeled upon your own American one. Its 
leaders, bitterly opposed to the Bolsheviks, wel¬ 
comed us kindly, and we rested after our weary 
campaign. 

“But it was only an interlude, for the old gen¬ 
eral, fierce in his determination to restore the 
monarchy, could not rest upon his aims foi long. 
During that breathing spell, however, I obtained 


190 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


a leave of absence and hurried to my old home, 
and to the sweetheart I had not seen all those 
weary years.” 

“And she was waiting for you?” Frances 
asked. 

“She was waiting, Miss Frances. Simply, 
hurriedly, with none of the pomp in which the 
MazarofTs were wont to claim their brides, we 
were married. 

“Ten golden days we had in my old castle, 
a honeymoon as brief as it was beautiful. Only 
one unpleasant incident marred it. 

“My wife, the Princess Natalya, had brought 
with her from her old home a personal maid, a 
girl called Minka. This girl’s family had a bad 
reputation in the countryside, and she, herself, 
had been discharged by Natalya’s mother for in¬ 
solence and thievery. She had pleaded with my 
wife for another chance, and, Natalya, too ten¬ 
der hearted to believe ill of anyone, consented 
to take her into her service. 

“Before the girl had been in the castle a day, 
she was making trouble. The other servants com¬ 
plained that she was lazy and overbearing. Small 
articles began to disappear from our private 
apartments. Minka, when questioned, swore 
that she had seen them taken by my old house¬ 
keeper, whom I would have trusted with the 


THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED 191 

crown jewels. The end came when the Princess 
caught Minka, as she was slipping a bottle of 
French perfume into her blouse. 

“She dismissed the girl, and ordered her to 
leave the castle. Minka replied most impudently, 
and my wife summoned a groom and had him 
remove her. Minka went, muttering vengeance. 
I never saw her again, until today. You!” he 
turned suddenly to Mrs. Mortimer, who started 
violently. “Tell them who you are!” 

“Yes, master.” She spoke through chattering 
teeth. “I am Minka. But oh, master, please—” 

“Silence! I will tell you when I wish you to 
speak.” He turned his back on her again. 

“Ten golden days, and the honeymoon ended. 
My general was on the march again. He was 
a great man, Mr. Forrester. Papa Denikin, his 
men called him, and not one but would have 
died for him. It was his last campaign, fought 
with scanty ammunition, ill-clad men, against 
an overwhelming force. His great heart broke, 
and he gave up his life when, after many weary 
months, we were finally forced to lay down our 
arms. 

His head drooped for a moment. A tear for 
the memory of the well loved commander stood 
in his eye. 

“Sick and disheartened, I made my way 


192 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

home,” he resumed. There I found fresh mis¬ 
fortune awaiting me. My little wife, never 
strong, and harassed by loneliness and fears for 
my safety, had succumbed to pneumonia. In 
my arms they placed her baby daughter, of whose 
very existence I had not known until that mo¬ 
ment. 

“Other news there was, which I was too dis¬ 
tracted, too sunk in my own sorrows, to heed. 
The feeble Ukrainian Republic was tottering. 
The red fires of revolution were beginning to 
blaze, even in this almost isolated little river val¬ 
ley where hitherto they had not penetrated. The 
day came when I was warned that my own peas¬ 
ants, men whose fathers had served mine for 
generations, were infected with the germ of 
revolt and were threatening the castle. 

“In the same hour came a messenger with dis¬ 
patches from the north. Baron Wrangel was 
rallying the remnants of Denikin’s army. There 
was promise of support by the Poles, and all 
hope was not yet dead. But every loyal sword 
was needed now. I must come at once. 

“In my dire need I turned to a servant for 
aid. Serge Mikhaivitch was my steward, and 
he had administered my estate while I was at the 
war. I knew him to be cunning and cowardly, 
but I believed him faithful. 


THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED 193 

“There was little choice, and no time for plan¬ 
ning. I summoned Serge to me and entrusted 
to him my baby daughter, charging him to take 
her to his house and keep her safe. As a peas¬ 
ant’s child, I thought she would be unmolested, 
whereas the inflamed Reds would have little 
mercy upon the child of an aristocrat. 

“Serge swore to fulfill my trust. He told me 
that his wife would be as a mother to the child. 
I knew that he had recently married, but fear¬ 
ing I would not approve, he had not told me 
that his wife was the woman Minka. Only today 
did I learn that fact. 

“I confided to Serge, also, the Mazaroff jew¬ 
els for safekeeping. Among them, though it 
wrenched my heart to part with it, was the gem- 
studded miniature of Natalya which she had 
given me before our marriage. I was going into 
certain danger, and I felt that, should evil be¬ 
fall me, the child at least would be safe, and 
would be assured of subsistence through the sale 
of the jewels. Serge swore to me by all the 
saints that he would guard the infant and the 
treasure with his life. 

“I hurried to join my comrades. For a brief 
while fortune favored us, but I can see now that 
there was never any real chance of success. Word 
came to me in a few weeks that my castle had 


194 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

been destroyed, torn stone from stone. My 
granaries had been looted, and my land was par¬ 
celled out among the peasants. I asked the mes¬ 
senger—he was Serge’s brother, the village ne’er- 
do-well—for news of Serge. With every ap¬ 
pearance of sorrow he told me that he, his wife 
and his child had been killed, and his house 
had been burned to the ground. I have as¬ 
surance that Minka and Serge inspired that 
lie, that they might keep the jewels for them¬ 
selves. 

“I had no means of making further inquiries. 
With a number of my comrades, I was captured 
by the Soviet army, and sent to the salt mines of 
Siberia. From there I managed to escape, and 
I made my way overland down into China. That 
ends the story as it affects me. The rest you 
know.” 

He paused to take breath. The telling of this 
old unhappy story had shaken him, and Kath¬ 
leen’s quiet eyes noticed how Tanya’s hand 
tightened on his. 

Mr. Forrester cleared his throat. “Pretty 
tough, old man. This Serge—he was Mortimer, 
I take it?” 

Mr. Mazaroff nodded. “Whether he ever 
meant to be loyal to his trust I cannot tell. The 
woman Minka says he did, that it was she who 




THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED 195 

tempted him. I do not know. One can place 
no reliance on the word of such cattle. 

“These, however, are the facts. They made 
their way out of Russia with the child and the 
gems, and came to New York. There they dis¬ 
posed of the Mazaroff jewels, one by one, to a 
Russian pawnbroker of Bolshevist sympathies. 
He found it most amusing to assist in despoil¬ 
ing the hated aristocrats. He was the Man with 
the Beard Tanya remembers. With the money 
the jewels brought him, Serge engaged in busi¬ 
ness. In his unscrupulous way he is shrewd 
enough, for he found it possible to cheat your 
countrymen as he had cheated me. 

“That, I think, concludes the story, my friends. 
Minka, with her insane spite against my dead 
wife, insisted on keeping the child and forcing 
her to wait upon her hand and foot. You may 
speak, Minka. This story, where it concerns 
Serge and yourself, is as you told it to me in 
the house next door. That is true?” 

“It is true, master.” She spoke with cringing 
humility, in direct contrast to the strident tones 
in which she had always issued her orders to 
“Mary Jane.” 

“A few more questions, Minka, and you may 
leave this house which your presence pollutes. 
You deliberately degraded my daughter, dress- 


196 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

ing her in your cast-off clothing and forcing her 
to perform the most menial tasks. You did 
this for the pleasure of knowing yourself served 
by a Mazaroff, whose shoes you are not fit to 
clean. That is true?” 

“Oh, no—Highness, I beg of you to have 
mercy! I did not mean—” 

“Answer me!” 

“I—I— Yes, Highness. It is true.” 

“You did more.” He had risen from his seat, 
and was towering over the shaking woman. “You 
dared—you, a common, lying, thieving peasant 
—you dared to claim my daughter as of your 
blood. It is true that I ordered Serge to say 
the child was his if it were necessary to save her 
life in the stress of Revolution. But here, in free 
America, where no harm menaced her, you dared 
to tell the world that Tanya Mazaroff was your 
niece! That is true?” 

“Oh, master, forgive, forgive! I— Yes. It is 
true.” 

“And yet more. Because the Princess Na¬ 
talya, a saint if ever one walked this earth, justly 
discharged you for a common thief, you dared 
blacken her memory to her daughter. You dared 
to take her name upon your unworthy tongue 
and to say that she—she—was a wicked woman. 
Answer! Did you or did you not do that?” 






THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED 197 

“I—yes, master. I—heaven help me! I did 
that.” 

“Knowing that you lied?” 

“Knowing that I lied, master.” 

With the last words the woman made a sud¬ 
den rush across the room, and fell upon her 
knees at Tanya’s feet. 

“Oh, forgive, forgive!” she sobbed. “I have 
done wrong, little mistress—ask the master to 
have pity upon me! See, on my knees I beg it! 
I will serve you day and night, I will make 
amends, I will—” 

Her English failed her, and she trailed off 
into Russian, a storm of sobs and frenzied plead¬ 
ing. Frances, who had thought never to pity 
“Mrs. Mortimer,” was sorry for her now. She 
was relieved when Boris Mazaroff interrupted 
the torrent with a few sharp words in Russian. 

“Enough!” he added, as Minka struggled to 
her feet and stood sniffling before him. 

“Mr. Forrester,” he went on calmly, “may I 
trouble you to take down a statement in writ¬ 
ing, that this creature may sign and depart? Her 
presence here offends me.” 

“Certainly.” Mr. Forrester took out his 

fountain pen. 

Rapidly Mr. Mazaroff dictated a confession 
covering the theft of the jewels, the truth about 






198 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 


Tanya’s parentage, and the relinquishment of 
all claims upon the child. 

The pen was thrust into Minka’s trembling 
hand, and, when she had signed, Mr. and Mrs. 
Forrester added their names as witnesses. 

“And now,” Mr. Mazaroff motioned toward 
the door, “you may go. You asked for mercy, 
and you have it. I am allowing you to go! 
When you visit your husband in the jail you 
may tell him of this interview. Tell him that a 
Mazaroff does not war with women, and that I 
have graciously allowed you to depart in peace. 
But tell him, also, that it is well for him that 
he is safe in a guarded cell! Tell him that you 
are leaving Medhurst at once, never to set foot 
in it again. You understand, do you not, that 
neither you nor Serge is ever to approach my 
daughter upon any pretext. Never, so long as 
your miserable bodies hold breath? You under¬ 
stand that?” 

“I understand, master,” the woman faltered. 
It was plain that she had not expected to escape 
so lightly from the prince’s wrath. In her heavy 
face, relief struggled with terror. As though she 
feared he might repent, at his first word she had 
begun to shamble toward the door, her face 
turned backward over her shoulder as if fear¬ 
ing a command to halt. 


THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED 199 

“Then go!” 

The words cracked like a whip, or like the 
knout which would have been her portion in the 
days of old Russia. 

Without a word, fumbling blindly for the 
knob, she opened the door and scuttled through 
it. 




CHAPTER XXIII 
HAPPILY EVER AFTER 

It was one week later. 

Tanya, as the sisters had quickly learned to 
call her, had gone into the city with Mr. Maz- 
aroff. They had heard of an artist who was espe¬ 
cially skilled in miniature work, and Mr. Maz- 
aroff was anxious to have the scarred portrait 
of the Princess Natalya restored for his daugh¬ 
ter. 

Tanya was never tired of questioning her 
father about this lovely mother, whom she had 
never seen. For her sake he searched his mem¬ 
ory, bringing out recollections he had tried to 
stifle because of their bitterness. But he dis¬ 
covered now that, shared with Natalya’s daugh¬ 
ter, they were strangely sweet. He described for 
her the gray old castle in which he had lived, 
and the ride through the gloomy forest which 
led to Natalya’s home. He told her of the young 
princess’s first ball, of how her dainty beauty 
had held all eyes, of how he, and many another 
young noble there, had sworn that night to win 
her. Scores of rivals he had had, but he had out- 


200 


HAPPILY EVER AFTER 201 

distanced them all, and had won the coveted 
prize for his very own. 

He told Tanya, too, of how the village folk 
worshipped her mother, with her never-failing 
charity and sweetness. She had gone among 
them from early childhood, bringing relief when 
poverty and illness spread their dark wings. She 
had cheered the saddest hearts and lightened 
the heaviest burdens. 

In all her brief, bright life, Natalya had made 
but one enemy. This was the sullen, treacherous 
girl, Minka. Her own mother had warned her 
against the servant, but the gentle little princess 
could not believe that anyone could be so hope¬ 
lessly bad. It was through her trusting kind¬ 
ness of heart that Minka had been given the 
second chance she so basely betrayed. 

Tanya could never get enough of these de¬ 
tails. She had smarted so long under her “aunt’s” 
taunts, had suffered so keenly from the tales of 
her parents’ “wickedness,” that it was heavenly 
sweet to know the truth at last. How far from 
wicked her father was she could see for herself, 
and his stories of her mother made her happiness 
complete. 

Upon this particular afternoon Kathleen and 
Frances had returned to their old seats in the 
shadow of the Mortimer wall. It was the same 


202 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

spot in which they had sat and wondered about 
their young neighbor, but that seemed so long 
ago now! 

Frances was silent, musing about this fairy 
tale from real life which had so amazingly fallen 

into their humdrum days. 

“Do you think, Sis,” she asked suddenly, “that 
Mr. Mazaroff suspected anything? About Tanya 
being really his daughter all the time?” 

“No, of course not. I know what you mean 
though. It was odd, the way he and Tanya 
seemed drawn to each other from the start. Rut 
I’m sure that was only instinct, for he couldn’t 
have known. Remember he had been told posi¬ 
tively that his baby was dead. Of course, he may 
have felt more kindly toward her because his 
own daughter would have been just that age, 
but that’s all.” 

“There’s no resemblance, either to him or to 
the Angel Lady,” Frances said. “She’s more 
like his own mother, he thinks now, but the like¬ 
ness isn’t strong enough for him to have noticed 
it before he knew. You’d think he might have 
recognized the Mortimers, though, living right 
next door.” 

“Oh, he didn’t see them. Don’t you remem¬ 
ber how little notice he took of anyone, in those 
days? He hardly seemed to see us. Just a pass- 


HAPPILY EVER AFTER 203 

ing glimpse of strange neighbors wouldn’t have 
meant anything to him. He believed Serge and 
Minka were dead, and I suppose they’d changed 
a great deal, too. Tanya told me that he didn’t 
recognize the woman when he went over there 
that day. It was she who gave herself away 
when she saw the thunder in his face.” 

Frances giggled. “And she never knew she 
was living right next door to the man they’d 
robbed! I’d like to have been present at that 
interview. Tanya never has told me what hap¬ 
pened. Do you know?” 

“Not very much. Just that the woman called 
him ‘master,’ and began to stammer excuses and 
apologies. And ‘my father’' questioned her 
sternly, and ‘my father’ ordered her to come 
over and tell her story to us. Did you ever notice 
how often Tanya seizes the chance to say ‘my 
father’? They’re precious words to her now, 
poor child.” 

“Poor child!” Frances repeated. “How can 
you say that? A mighty lucky child, it seems to 
me, and a princess at that. Kathie, I’ve just re¬ 
membered something! Do you recall what I 
told you the Carter boy called Tanya on the day 
she lost her slipper at school? Do you?” 

“No, I don’t think. Oh, yes, I do. Cinderella, 
wasn’t it?” Kathleen smiled. “I see what you 


204 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

mean, dear. She really was a Cinderella, ashes 
and all, wasn’t she? And the prince came and 

rescued her, just as the story says. 

“Yes, only were not in the original story,” 
Frances pointed out. “And we really did the 
rescuing, or at least, we found her for the prince. 
Let’s take all the credit that’s coming to us.” 

“Cinderella, with modern improvements. Yes, 
I think we can pat ourselves on the backs, Kit¬ 
ten. We really were some use, for once in our 
lives. It is like a fairy tale, isn’t it, the whole 
story? It’s the sort of thing that doesn’t happen 

in real life, only it did.” 

“And it happened right in our own neighbor¬ 
hood—that’s what makes it so marvelous! Any¬ 
thing might happen in the newspapers, but this 
happened here! To us! I can’t get over it. 
Sis,” Francie went on, “do you think Tanya 
minds not getting to be a real princess? I mean, 
living in a castle and having servants and jewels 
and all that? I’d be just furious with those old 
revolutionists if I were in her place.” 

“I’m sure she never gives it a thought. Now 
that she has her beloved father, I don’t believe 
she’d change places with a reigning queen.” 

“No, I suppose not,” Frances agreed. “Oh, 
look, here she comes with her father now. And 
who in the world have they got with them?” 


HAPPILY EVER AFTER 205 

They were not long in doubt, for as the little 
party crossed the lawn they recognized, behind 
smiling Tanya and Roris, the beaming face of 
the former Mortimer cook. 

“Girls, it’s Delia!” Tanya called out. “We 
met her on the street in the city, and she doesn’t 
like her new place a bit. And my father thinks 
we might make room for her here, because now 
that I’ve come to stay it makes extra work for 
Helga. Of course my father will pay Delia’s 
wages. Do you think it will be all right with 
your mother, Kathleen? I’d love to have Delia 
with me. She was so good to me, over there.” 

“I wouldn’t want to be puttin’ the other cook- 
lady out,” Delia interposed anxiously. “But if 
you could take me, Miss Kathleen, it s happy I d 
be. Many’s the time I used to look over the wall 
and think what a grand place this would be and 
all, with the young ladies so gay, and not above 
chattin’ with the cook like she was a human bein’. 
Do you think they’s a chanst for me, Miss?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Kathleen answered. 
“Helga’d be glad of some help, I know that. 
I’ll speak to Mother right away, Delia. I think 
it’ll be all right.” 

“This is only a temporary arrangement, you 
know,” Boris Mazaroff interrupted. “Even¬ 
tually Tanya and I will have to think about a 


206 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

home of our own. And when that time comes, 
we both feel that Delia is the proper person to 
take charge of it.” 

“A home of your own?” Frances started. “Oh, 
Mr. Mazaroff, you aren’t planning to take Tanya 
away from us?” 

“Not far away, my dear, and not just yet. 
Until she is a little older, I am delighted to 
know that my daughter is safe in your good 
mother’s care. But some day, when my work 
lies closer to home, I should like to buy a little 
house here in Medhurst and settle down. You 
would not mind having us for neighbors. Miss 
Frances?” 

“Oh, I didn’t know you meant that!” Frances 
exclaimed. “I thought—I was afraid you meant 
that you wanted to take her back to Russia. And 
I couldn’t stand that, I just couldn’t!” 

“I shall never return to Russia, my dear,” 
Boris Mazaroff smiled with a hint of the old sad¬ 
ness. “There is no place in there for me now, 
nor for my daughter. And it is as well,” he 
added more cheerfully. “I was bitter at first, 
but I know now that my comrades and I were 
fighting for a lost cause. The old regime served 
its purpose. It is as well that it should give way 
to a newer one. My views are not those of the 
men who rule Russia today, nor can I approve 


HAPPILY EVER AFTER 207 

of the methods by which they attained power. 
But those are problems which the Russian peo¬ 
ple must work out. It is not the place of a poor 
exile to attempt to solve them. There are men 
of good will there, as in all places. It is my faith 
that eventually they will work out a happier 
means of life for my former countrymen. As 
for me, I am an American now, and my daughter 
shall grow up as an American girl. Believe me, 
I do not regret it.” 

“I should think Tanya would regret it, 
though,” Frances remarked. “Anyone can be 
an American girl, but she would have been a 
princess.” 

“Oh, Francie!” Tanya exclaimed. “I told you 
that doesn’t matter! Can’t you believe me?’ 

“What’s all this about princesses?” Delia put 
in. “I can’t make head nor tail of it.” 

Frances stared at her. “Do you mean they 

didn’t tell you?” 

“Why, Mary Jane told me her grand news, 
Miss Frances, that she’s not Mary Jane at all, 
but some Rooshian name I can’t lay me tongue 
to. And that the gentleman here is her own 
father, and that them Mortimers was crooks, 
which well enough I know it. But she said 
naught of princesses.” 

“Well, she is a princess, Delia,” Frances said 


208 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

solemnly. “Yes, our own Mary Jane. No fool¬ 
ing. Now what do you think of that?” 

“Glory be!” Old Delia stood slightly apart, 
and surveyed the smiling Tanya from head to 
foot. “Well,” she concluded at last, “Princess or 
no, she looks just the same to me.” 

“And I am the same, Delia,” Tanya answered 
quickly. “I could never be any different to you. 
Why, if you hadn’t fallen from the step ladder 
that day I’d never have known who I was! I 
shouldn’t have known my father, or the For¬ 
resters, or anything , if it hadn’t been for that 
lucky tumble of yours. Just remind me of that, 
if ever I begin putting on any princess airs with 
you, Delia.” 

“Well, you’ve fair got me head in a whirl,” the 
Irishwoman confessed. “But no doubt I’ll get 
the straight of it in time. And don’t I see the 
lady of the house lookin’ out of the window? 
If you’d just speak a word for me, Miss Kath¬ 
leen—” 

Kathleen hopped up at once and led Delia into 
the house. But Tanya, Frances and Mr. Maz- 
aroff lingered in the shadow of the wall. 

Father and daughter had brought back some 
news from the city which Tanya was anxious 
to tell her friend. They had visited the state’s 
attorney, whose duty it would be to prosecute 


HAPPILY EVER AFTER 209 

“Mr. Mortimer” when he came to trial. The 
man had confessed his guilt, so that the official 
was able to tell them he would probably receive 
a prison sentence of at least ten years. “Mrs. 
Mortimer” had disappeared. She had not even 
waited to learn her unfortunate husband’s fate. 
Whether from fear of the law, or of Mr. Maz- 
aroff, she had left no traces behind her. 

“But she can’t do anything to you if she ever 
does come back, can she, Tanya?” Frances 
asked. 

“Not a thing,” Mr. Mazaroff answered posi¬ 
tively. “I showed Mr. Horner the confession 
which Minka signed, and he says it will be a 
simple formality to obtain a court order de¬ 
claring Tanya my daughter, and awarding cus¬ 
tody of her to me. So that’s all cleared up. We’ll 
never see Minka again. I shouldn’t wonder if 
she had returned to Russia. Well, the Soviet 
Union is welcome to her!” 

“She should have been punished, I think,” 
Frances observed. “It doesn’t seem right that 
she should go free, after all she did to you, 
Tanya.” 

“Oh, what does it matter!” Tanya laughed. 
“I don’t want to punish her. All in the world I 
want to do is forget her. Let’s talk about some¬ 
thing else. Do you really think you and Mr. 


210 THE CINDERELLA SECRET 

Forrester will fly to Mexico, father? That will 
be exciting!” 

As they sat, animatedly discussing the Mexi¬ 
can trip, a moving van drew up in front of the 
empty house next door. The “For Rent” sign 
had come down yesterday, the girls remembered. 

Just behind the van came a shabby small car, 
crammed full, it seemed, with boys and girls. A 
huge police dog perched on the running board, 
and the first child to bounce to the ground 
cuddled a tiny Maltese kitten. A jolly, roly- 
poly mother shepherded the little flock into the 
house, while the father stopped to joke with the 
moving-men. 

Frances watched the arrival, smiling. “So 
those are the new neighbors. I don’t think we’ll 
have to rescue any Cinderella from that family!” 

Tanya smiled too. The Mortimer house was 
no longer a place of dread, a dark shadow stretch¬ 
ing across her sun lit path. The spell was broken, 
and never again need she fear that ordinary, 
rather ugly house. She was free! 

Clear and sweet across the lawn came the clang 
of the dinner-gong. 

Tanya rose, and slipped one arm into her 
father’s, and the other around Francie’s waist. 

Slowly, happily, clasped on either side by 


HAPPILY EVER AFTER 211 


one who loved her dearly, the little princess 
moved toward the open door. Never had the 
Princess Natalya, her mother, paced toward her 
stately dining hall with more grace, nor with a 
lighter heart. Tanya had no castle, no jewels, 
no retinue of servants. She had her white-haired 
father, and Frances, and a handful of faithful 
friends within the plain small house. She was 
well content. 

And so she lived happily ever after! 

The End 

















































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